Team Jaeger
by DisgruntledJaeger
Summary: They sealed the Breach, ending the Kaiju war and saving humanity. The least they could ask for was hero's burial. But life isn't done with it's four favorite Jaegers just yet, they still have a galaxy to save.
1. Arrival

**Hi people, my very first fanfiction, so please be gentle with me!**

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"Ohh." The word just came to it without thought. An expression of pain that seemed to fit it's situation. Only it wasn't pain that it felt, exactly. Rather a strange sense of... feeling that it had never felt before. It had felt pain before and this was not pain. But this was the first time it had ever thought to vocalize it's thoughts to the world.

Come to think about it, this seemed to be the first time it had been to... speak. Yes, that was the word: Speak. Talk. On it's own.

On it's own. For some reason that single statement brought such... feeling to it.

Feeling. It was a feeling, yes, but a feeling different to when it had woken up. Not a feeling about it's physical state, but a feeling that seemed to grow from inside, making it feel like it was flying in the sky. It made it feel... happy.

Yes. Happy. It was happy. Happy about what? Happy about doing thing on it's own? Yes, that must be it. But why was it happy about that? Because it couldn't do it before?

Yes, that was it. But why couldn't it do it before.

It groaned, the sound coming from deep inside it's metallic body. Just thinking about it made it's head hurt.

With a burst of will power, it's optical sensors burst to life giving it the view of a dirty metal floor the color of rust. Oh wait, that was rust. The sensors in it's body confirmed it.

With a grunt of effort, it got it's hand under it's body and pushed itself onto it's knees.

It was in a hallway, a dirty one at that. In fact the place looked like it hadn't been giving a good wash in centuries. For some reason this troubled it. Not the state of the hallway but it's size. It was normal, well, for it anyway. Tall enough for it to walk without it's head touching the ceiling and wide enough that three could walk side by side.

Strange. Why would someone make something like this for a two hundred fifty foot tall Jaeger. Sure, machines like it needed room to move, but to make a hallway that stretched on for as far as it could see was just wasteful.

Now why did it think that? Earlier it wouldn't have cared. But when was earlier? When it couldn't feel?

It groaned again, raising a hand to run it along the smooth metal of it's head. It's vision cut out briefly as it ran the hand down it's face and across it's visor. Why was it so hard to remember?

It rose to it's feet, servos and hydraulics silently moving as it reached it's full height.

Where was it? This wasn't the Shatterdome.

The word just came to it. The word representing a place that it had never seen before. Or had it? Yes it must have otherwise how it have known it's name? As it tried to remember images and sounds came back. Sparks flying, metal clanging, tiny beings walking around it's feet and sense of... belonging. Home.

Home. Was the Shatterdome... it's home? It must be. And home wasn't here. Time to go find it.

It made to take a step but something caught it's foot. A startled yelp jumped from it's speaker system as the massive machine pitched forward and hit the ground with a loud clang.

"Ow." There it was: Pain. Pain where it's chest had struck the ground. But not the same pain it had felt before. And there was a vocal expression of pain again. For some reason, the fact that it could express itself brought... happiness? No, not happiness. It was a tightening in it's chest, but not an unpleasant feeling. Anticipation? Excitement? Yes, excitement. It's had seen the tiny beings express dozens of this feelings, only now did it have a reason to think about it and remember the names they'd assigned each one.

But what had it tripped on?

Pushing itself up it found it's legs straddling another Jaeger. Lying face first into the metal floor seeing it's face was difficult but it's color and form was instantly recognizable.

"Striker Eureka." It's voice came out again with the name and memories of seeing the silver machine. Then it paused, all thought of Striker Eureka out of it's mind as it thought about something else. What was up with it's voice? It was light, for lack of a better word, cheerful and... female.

Yes. That seemed to fit.

The memories were coming easier and it... she could remember the tiny beings calling her a she. And with that came a name. Not the name of one of her Jaeger brothers, not the name of any place or anything else. It was name that was hers and hers alone.

"Gipsy Danger." The words came out on her speakers with such a thrill that it sent shivers down her spine. This was who she was. Her identity.

"Gipsy... Danger." she whispered the name to herself again, feeling so tall she could touch the stars themselves. Yes, it fit perfectly.

"Owwww." Then a new voice intruded on her moment of joy and she looked down. Striker Eureka was stirring. His arms, for must be a he from his voice, were trying to get under his body to push himself up but Gipsy was still sitting on him, holding him down.

"Oh, sorry!" She leaped off the grey Jaeger with an agility that her metallic frame had never possessed before and knelt by Striker's head as the Jaeger continued to moan. "Are you okay?"

"I feel like I was tramped by a Kaiju," the Mark.V mumbled as he crawled to his knees. "So no, I'm not okay."

"That's different," she said as she helped the Jaeger to his feet.

"Whats different?" Striker asked, shrugging away her hand.

"I felt... feel fine," she replied.

"Well lucky you."

Now, for the first time, Gipsy noticed that Striker's voice sounded different than her own. Besides it being male, Striker also had a sort of accent making him sound Australian. If indeed it was Australian. The word just came to her because it... sounded right.

Yeah. Striker Eureka sounded like an Australian because the accent fit the word and it sounded right.

"So where the hell are w-" He paused, visor glowing bright as he realized what he'd just said. "I'm... talking," he said at last.

"Yes!" she squealed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She didn't know why, but the mere fact that all of this was happening was making her excited and she couldn't understand it. It made her feel... bubbly inside, boiling like hot water and the only way she could release the steam was to move.

Striker seemed to be taking it somewhat more calmly, rubbing his hands together and shivering at the feeling.

"How?"

"I have no idea!" she responded, cheerfully.

Striker snorted, reaching out and dragging his fingers over the rust covered walls. "This... this is-"

"New?" Gipsy jumped in. "Exciting? Happyfying?"

Striker stopped, then glanced at her. "_Happyfying_?"

Gipsy shrugged. "How else would you get happy?"

"You just get happy. There's no such thing as _happyfying_!"

"How would you know?"

"I just... I just do. Okay?"

"But I like happyfying."

Striker stared at her with something Gipsy gauged was disbelief. Granted, he didn't have any eyes like those tiny beings, but the way his head was tilted and his yellowish visor glowed it wasn't hard to figure out.

"You are one of the strangest war machines I've ever met," he said at last.

"I'm the first you've ever met."

"...True."

"So would you say it was happyfying?"

"No!"

"But I'm getting happyfied."

"There is! No! _Happyfying_!"

As words were thrown about like snowballs after a snowstorm, Gipsy couldn't help but feel excitement welling up within her again. For some reason making Striker scream his head off about the different words related to happy and how happyfying wasn't one of them was so... fun. She giggled, a noise that sounded so strange coming from a two hundred foot tall war machine.

"Whats so funny?" Striker groaned, by now having giving up on trying to correct her.

"Teasing you," she giggled. "It's fun."

"Oh yeah?" he growled. "Well how about this; you're a rusted pile of scrap!"

She back stiffened instantly. She was shocked Striker would say something like that. She wasn't scrap, she was the finest Jaeger in the Shatterdome. She activated her vocal systems to relay this the Mark. V but halfway through something took hold, something unpleasant but at the same time satisfying.

"Oh yeah? Well _you're_ nothing more than a polished tin can!"

"At least I _am_ polished!"

Gipsy saw her vision narrow dangerously, almost as if she was glowering at the silver Jaeger. She hated how he'd retaliated to her insult, but two could play this game.

"At least I don't cover up my battle-scars, mister disco ball!"

"Which you got from getting your ass kicked, and who are you calling a disco ball?!"

"You, duh."

They glared at each other, slowly walking around in a circle like wolves trying to find a weakness in their opponent. Up to that point Gipsy had been remembering so much. Her pilots, the Shatterdome, the Kaiju war, everything. She remembered being piloted by Raleigh and Mako into the breach and then... nothing. She would've loved to think about it more but with this _moron_ here that was impossible.

"Well, if I'm a disco ball then your the useless pile of scrap at the bottom of Oblivion Bay!" Striker leered.

Whatever insult Gipsy was creating died in her systems as the words struck.

"Shut up," she growled. Now that she was self aware that particular part of his past was a sore point and Striker had better not go there if he knew what was good for him.

"Oh, but wait," Striker continued, catching on to her anger, "you were dead so how would you know you were scrap. Some battle scars, hmm."

She felt her hands clench into fists as Striker came closer to the sore spot and her composure came closer to breaking.

"And let's not forget your late pilot, worthless waste just like you!"

That did it.

Instead of answering, Gipsy launched herself forward, fist reared back and elbow rockets flaring as she screamed in anger, wanting nothing more than to hurt the Mark. V. No one, _no one_, insulted Yancy. Not after what she felt when he died.

Her fist connected with his broad chest with all the force of a freight train and his visor seemed to bulge outward as he was sent flying in to the wall.

Gipsy growled, low and dangerous as the silver Jaeger staggered to his feet, fists raised in preparation.

"So," Striker said quietly, cracking his knuckles. He seemed to be grinning coyly at her. "It's gonna be like _that_, huh?"

She punched him again, this time aiming for his smug little face plate. He dodged at the last second and her fist hit the wall with a resounding clang that echoed down the corridor. As she tried to pull back he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, straining the servos and hydraulics making her cry out in pain.

But pain was something she was used to. Pain was something she fight through.

Fast as she could she lashed out with her foot and caught him in the ankle. He yelped in surprise, a funny sound she would to tease him about later, and slackened his grip just enough for her to wiggle out and face him again.

Just in time too.

He jumped at her, both fists working in tandem as he aimed for her mid section. She managed to block or divert the first few with busts of sparks and deafening clangs. Suddenly he feinted with his left arm and his right came around with a haymaker that sent her staggering back. Before she could recover she felt him slip behind and kick her legs out from under her and she tumbled to the floor.

As she lay there groaning, she couldn't help but stare down the hallway. There, on the wall a good ways away, something was scratched into the rusted metal. Her fight with Striker temperately forgotten, she magnified the words in her vision. The were in English, reading:

_Welcome to Omega suckers._

And underneath the writing were two more familiar forms, Crimson Typhoon and Cherno Alpha. They were slumped against the wall, arms and legs limp. Then as she watched, Crimson's single eye began to light up.

"Givin' up already?"

She gasped as a foot planted itself on her back and pinned her down.

"What bloody good are you?" Striker taunted. "You can't even fight me, let alone a Kaiju."

She ignored him as she watched Crimson flex his three arms and scratch his head in confusion. Such a human gesture. Beside him, Cherno was rumbling as his old nuclear reactor slowly powered up.

"Are you bloody listening?" Striker shouted.

Gipsy shrugged, a hard move when pinned to the ground. "No, not really."

There was silence, only broken by the resounding clangs of the Mark I and IV crawling to their feet, before the foot removed itself from her back.

"Are you bipolar or something?" Striker asked in a resigned tone.

"I don't know," she replied, flipping onto her back. "Why, do you think I am?"

"Maybe."

"It is probable, but unlikely."

Striker jumped and swore as Crimson appeared beside him, followed by what looked like a grumpy Cherno, if the clenched fists were anything to go with.

"When the bloody hell did you get here?!" Striker screamed. "You nearly made me piss myself!"

Crimson cocked his head to the side. "Impossible. Urination is a function related to organic beings, which you are not."

"You know what I mean! And when did you get all smart Santa Claus!?"

Before Crimson could reply, Cherno let out a series of rumbles that sounded like laughter. Maybe he couldn't talk like they could.

"Oh be quiet," Crimson groaned. "I look nothing like that fat man."

"I don't care. I think it's bloody hilarious." Striker cut in.

Crimson's single eye darkened in a glare.

"Well," Gipsy butted in, "as much as I would like to restart the 'beat Striker to a pulp' club does anyone have any idea where we are?"

It seemed that was the only thing that saved her from getting punched in the faceplate for the club comment. As one all of the Jaegers stopped their glaring and looked about with unrestrained curiosity.

"It is no place I or my pilots have ever seen," Crimson mused, running a finger down the rust incrusted wall.

"Looks like robot hell from Futurama," Striker snorted.

Cherno let out a worried rumble.

"Course not! You'd think we'd go to hell for all we've done?"

"It... could be Omega." Gipsy wondered out loud, remembering the words she saw written on the wall. Instantly she felt the eyes of the others fall upon her. "What is an Omega?"

"Where did that... particular word come from?" Crimson asked.

"Just down there." Gipsy pointed them out.

"Welcome to Omega suckers," Striker read aloud. "I hate this place already. Who says suckers anymore?"

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**So yeah, tell me what you think and more will be explained next chapter.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**DJ out!**

**OH! Also, disclaimer, I do not own Pacific Rim or Mass Effect.**


	2. A Quick Look Around

Most people, upon finding themselves in an unknown place, would panic, say it was impossible, inconceivable even. More so, if said person would have found themselves in a place with bare metal walls coated with rust and with barely noticeable blood stains, they would've undoubtedly been scared, terrified or something other of the sort. But not four rather confused and curious killer robots that had been spawned from a designer that had watched too much anime.

As it was, Gipsy Danger, the newly awakened living Jaeger, found herself surrounded by her three Jaeger brothers as they stared at the writing on the wall.

"Welcome to Omega... suckers." Crimson crossed two of his arms over his chest while the third scratched the underside of his single eye, just like someone scratching their chin. "It obviously refers to a place, but where exactly I have no idea."

Cherno rumbled in a questioning tone.

"No," Crimson replied. "From what I can remember there is no place on earth called as such."

"Well that's fucking great," Striker huffed. "Stuck in a strange place with a strange name with strange words carved into the walls. Bloody cryptic ain't it."

"No," Gipsy objected, in much the same pose Crimson was in. "It's more like a _mystery_ than anything."

Striker glanced at her. "That's what I just said."

"No, you said it was cryptic."

"They mean the same bloody thing." Striker growled.

Twisting her head so slowly you could hear the servos whine in her neck, Gipsy eyed him, visor glowing merrily. "Striker, are you making up words?"

"You tell me miss happyifying!"

"A better question is how can I pick this up?"

The two arguing Jaegers paused as Crimson knelled down and picked something up from the floor and showed it to them. It was a knife, a throwing knife to be precise, and from the looks of the dulled blade was used to stretch the words into the wall.

Striker sighed irritably. "Well I guess that answers your question. With your hands. Good job, good job. Everyone clap with me, Crimson picked the knife. Yay." He clapped a few times, ignoring the glare from the three armed cyclops.

"Yes," Crimson continued slowly, "I can pick up the knife with my hands, now look at it."

They all did. They looked for a good long while and didn't see anything else but Crimson holding it in his hand.

Cherno warbled uncertainly.

"You can't see it?" Crimson sounded incredulous. "Look at it. Look at _how_ I am holding it."

"Oh I'm looking," Striker nodded. "Is your hand supposed to be that freakishly large?"

"I don't see anything, Crimson," Gipsy replied politely.

"Then allow me to explain-"

"No."

They all looked to Striker who stood there with a smug look about him. "I say no."

When they all kept staring he slumped. "Come on, can't you take a joke? He asked for our permission and I said... aw never mind."

When Crimson's glare finally caused Striker to fidget did he finally continue. "As I was _about_ to say, this knife is six inches long."

After a long silence and a good deal of disbelieving staring at Crimson's skill of stating the obvious did Gipsy finally speak up. "I still don't get it."

"This knife is six inches long," Crimson repeated impatiently. "So how can I hold it if I am two hundred and fifty _feet_ tall?"

Gipsy's visor brightened in realization as Cherno keened in surprise. Striker just stood there with an air of gaping openly.

"So," he began quietly. "We're stuck in a strange place with a strange name with strange words carved into the walls and we've _shrunk_."

"Yes," Crimson confirmed, dropping the knife. "Down in the seven foot nine range I believe."

"That's supposed to make us feel better?"

"No, its a fact."

"Well that's bloody brilliant. So what the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"I have an idea."

The three pails of metallic testosterone turned and saw Gipsy walking away down the hall. She stopped and turned to them, visor alight with merriment. "Lets go explore this dump."

After a moment of realizing they had nothing else better to do they all shrugged and followed her.

In the long minutes of travel that followed, Gipsy could feel that feeling of excitement come back again. She didn't know what had happened to her, why she was aware like this and, as Striker had so kindly put it, where the hell they were. The mere thought of exploring this place was sending chills down her spine and she loved it. It was all so new she couldn't help but be... happyified.

At that her visor darkened.

Why did Striker say that wasn't a real word, of course it was. At least, she thought it was.

From far down the hall a door made of interlocking metal plates was fast approaching. Before they were even close to it she saw something else that caused her to slow to a halt.

By the door, slumped against the wall was a man. His head was bare and oddly shaped, but he had two arms, legs, a head and the right amount of fingers to boot, even if they were clutching the bottle of... stuff that lay beside him. Come to think about it, there were about half a dozen of the same bottles scattered around him.

"Intoxicated," Crimson whispered behind her.

"What?" she whispered back.

"Drunk. Too many beverages. However you'd like to put it."

"Oh. Then why isn't he moving?"

"Maybe he's dead," Striker made his prescience known, whispering like the rest of them.

"Unlikely," Crimson replied.

"Well, only one way to find out," Striker muttered then gave her a hard shove in the back towards the drunk. "Go touch him."

"What?!" She tried to step back but Striker only pushed back harder. "Why me?"

"Cause your first in line. Go."

"Why do I need to touch him?"

"Cause that's what they do in movies. They touch the bodies then they come back to life as zombies and bite their heads off."

"Not helping!"

"Really? You're made out of solid steel and your afraid of a little bite."

"You said it was a zombie!"

"Oh for goodness sakes," Crimson muttered before he too started pushing. Between the two of them, and after a good deal of struggling, they finally got Gipsy going the right way.

"But why me?" she whimpered, somehow managing to do the kicked puppy look as she took a few careful steps towards the drunk.

"Someone has to," Crimson shrugged.

Hiding behind the red Jaeger Cherno rumbled in agreement, paused, then let out a worried groan.

"It's not a zombie," Crimson growled out then turned on Striker. "Where did you even get that stupid idea?"

As they started to argue, Gipsy paused just a few meters away from the slumped form. Now that she was closer she saw he was wearing a kind of blue and white armor, almost like the pilot rig she remembered her pilots wearing. His head was twisted to the side, hiding his face but as she watched she saw him twitch and let out a snore.

She perked up.

So he was just asleep and not dead as Striker had said. She would wait for him to wake up, that was the right thing to do. When you're stuck in a strange place the best thing that you can do is make friends the natives.

She stood there fidgeting as she waited for him to return to wakefulness. He snorted again and his pattern of organized snores restarted.

"What are you waiting for?" Striker shouted from down the hall.

She shushed him then replied in a loud whisper and sending him a glare. "Waiting for him to... what are you doing?"

"Hiding."

She stared, then started to giggle. She couldn't help it, the sight was just too hilarious. Striker and Cherno were doing their best to hide themselves behind Crimson's bulk and fought for room behind his broad chest. Naturally Cherno won, leaving Striker to use Crimson's oversized arm as a shield. All the while Crimson was standing there exasperated and face palming.

"It's not a zombie," she said, fighting back giggles. "He's just sleeping."

"That's what it wants you to think," Striker shot back.

Cherno warbled, nodding his massive head.

"Why do I even try," Crimson sighed, resigning himself to being a walking security blanket.

"But it's not a zombie," she pleaded.

"Then prove it. _Touch it_."

Gipsy sighed, realizing nothing else would convince them. Taking a steadying breath through her vents, she strode forward until she stood at the drunk's feet.

"Hello good sir," she said loudly, waving when his head twisted around to face her.

"That's not touching him!" Striker shouted, but his words fell on deaf audio sensors as Gipsy stared at the man's face.

It wasn't a man at all. It had the body of a man but the face... it had _four_ eyes surrounded by strange ridges that travelled across it's face. The four eyed thing blinked at her in a drunken haze. Her systems stalled, her vision narrowed and her turbine thrummed within her. This thing wasn't human. Only one thought of what it could be sprang to mind.

"KAIJU!" she screamed, bringing her foot up and into it's ugly head. She expected it to fight back, to recover from her blow and come at her, teeth bared, so she was very surprised when her foot went clean through it's skin, through the skull and into the soft brain within. She froze, vents heaving as the body gave a wet gargle and went still. It didn't even try to fight back. She stood there, balancing on one leg as she pulled her foot out of it's head, stained with red blood.

"Worst. Kaiju. Ever," she muttered.

"I don't think its a Kaiju at all," said Crimson, appearing by her side. "Red blood, not blue as Kaiju are known for." Then he said over his shoulder, "so you're scared of a fictional horror plot device yet you flock to a dead alien."

"Kaiju we can kill," said Striker appearing on Gipsy's other side.

"It's not a Kaiju at all," Gipsy grumbled, half disappointed and half relived. Then she looked down to her foot and saw it covered in blood and flecks of grey brain matter. "Yuck."

As she tried to clean off what she could, Crimson reached down and picked the body up by the collar. There was just enough of the face left that he could determine what it looked like before it's encounter with Gipsy.

"Four eyes," he noted, "definitely not human but certainly not Kaiju either."

Shoving Striker to the side so he could see Cherno rumbled questioningly.

"For starters the blood is red, not blue. Second, it is humanoid and resembles the human body closely, unlike Kaiju. Third, it is only six feet tall," he finished, dropping the body. "A normal Kaiju would tower over us right now."

"What if they shrunk like us?" Striker asked.

"Nothing really. We fight, but only a different scale of property damage. Thousands instead of millions."

Before he could say anything else the strange door opened and other alien stepped out, clad in the same strange blue and white armor. It was holding something in it's hands and kept his eyes on it as random gibberish came from it's mouth. When it did finally look up the words, if they could called words, died in it's throat as it saw it's dead colleague surrounded by the four death machines.

And he stared, eyes wide. And they stared back, visors alight.

The alien's mouth opened but instead of gibberish a choked gasp emerged, but whether out of seeing his dead friend or out of shock of seeing his four killers Gipsy didn't know. But when it reached for a device attached to it's thigh did she feel realize something.

What if it was a gun?

She recalled a vague recollection of guns from her pilots in the drift and realized the damage they could cause... to a human.

But she wasn't human, she was a Jaeger, if only a fun sized Jaeger at that. But as she saw the device fold out into an unknown firearm it sparked a primal fear inside her. Without realizing it she charged, the fear driving her forward as her fist came around and knocked the weapon to the side, followed by a powerful uppercut.

Had it been a Kaiju, she reflected, it would've only staggered the monster but with this alien her blow snapped it's head back with a sharp crack and a spray of blood as it was lifted off the ground and flew back five meters before thudding to the ground.

Instinct taking over, she rushed forward as any good fighter would to press her advantage. As it turned out, the alien was already dead, so the vicious kick she gave to it's sternum that sent it flying to the feet of one of it's comrades could be considered overkill but...

Wait...

"Holy shit!"

She whirred around, instantly taking in her surroundings.

The room she had stormed into wasn't very large, more like a junction between corridors but it looked like someone had step up shop here. A few cots were set up against the walls with a few personal items scattered on top. Then she saw the six other four-eyed aliens surrounding her, weapons raised and ready.

As she dropped into a fighting stance she couldn't help but feel amused. The aliens had surrounded her in a circle and were so focused on _her _that they never saw Striker charge in behind. With a quick swipe, Striker decapitated one with his Sting-Blades before jumping towards the next.

After that it wasn't so much a fight and more like a massacre. The aliens didn't know where to turn as both Gipsy and Striker attacked from the front and the monstrous forms of Crimson and Cherno burst from the door. The former gutting a four-eyes with a triple armed slash of his buzzsaws in his classic Thundercloud Formation. Meanwhile Cherno made breakfast by crushing one's skull into a pancake between his oversized fists.

When the bodies finally stopped twitching, the four Jaeger were left in a scene of bloody carnage. After a few moments of aftermath silence Striker let out a low chuckle.

"That was fun."

"It was most amusing," Crimson agreed, flicking the blood off his buzzsaws before shifting them back into fingers. "Good stress reliever too."

"Duh, that's what fun is," Striker huffed, Sting-blades sliding back into place. "I got two by the way. I win.

"I got four," Gipsy crowed, "_I_ win."

Cherno rumbled darkly, kicking his only kill who was doing a very good Flat Stanley impression, at least in one body part.

"I believe our kill counts are irrelevant now," said Crimson, knelling down by the alien he'd gutted and gingerly lifted up it's left wrist. "These things are so weak killing them doesn't feel like an achievement."

"Oh yeah," Striker crossed his arms. "What does it feel like to you?"

"Like taking out the trash, surprisingly."

Scraping the blood off his fists as best he could and letting lose a series of questioning warbles, Cherno pointed at Crimson who was fiddling with the alien's wrist.

"Investigating," Crimson replied. "I saw a holographic interface appear on this one's wrist and I am trying to find the- Oh! Here it is." With a click a small band of metal fell off which Crimson caught with an outstretched hand. He studied it for a moment then managed to slip it onto his oversized arm/plasma cannon.

Nothing happened.

Glowering, he gave the band a careful tap and hummed in satisfaction as a glowing glove of holographic light encased his arm. Instantly the three others were fighting for room, eagerly looking over his shoulder at the new toy and spouting random phrases of appreciation.

"Wow."

"I want one."

"Grrrrrrrrr."

"Only one problem," Crimson grumbled, eyeing the interface. He appeared to be on a home screen, with all the main tabs and such, only they were labelled with incomprehensible alien text.

"Crimson, if you can understand that I will be very happy," Gipsy said, her visor glowing like a sweet smile.

"As if he isn't as much of a freak already," Striker grumbled, giving one of Crimson's three arms a sharp tap.

"Why do you haft to be so mean?"

"It's my _nature_," the silver Jaeger shot back cryptically.

As the two started bickering back and forth about the basis of Striker's "assery," as Gipsy put it, Crimson was quite happily selecting random buttons and watching the results. Still hanging over his shoulder, Cherno let out a questioning keen.

"The settings tab," Crimson replied, letting out a pleased hum when he found a page with slider bars. "I'm getting close, I can feel it."

He tapped another button and his eye brightened when it opened a scrolling menu with at least a dozen different languages printed in boxes. Granted, none of them were recognizable, but as he scrolled down he found what he'd been searching for.

"There we go," he hummed as all the writing changed into his favourite text.

Cherno groaned, disapprovingly.

"Of course it's Chinese, what would you expect?"

After a pause Cherno rumbled in confusion.

"I don't know. Am I speaking Chinese?"

The Russian Jaeger shrugged, then looked to another one of the corpses and growled.

"Maybe. Go check."

As the green mini-titan moved off to find his band/holographic interface, Crimson began to fully explore the functions of his new device, the tab labelled 'codex' was especially appealing.

"Hmm..." He hummed to himself as he scrolled through the entries. "Planets and Locations... Planets?... Technology... Aliens?... Hmm."

He lifted his finger to touch the 'Aliens: Council Species' a sharp clang erupted from behind.

"Call me a tin can will ya!"

Another clang and a yelp from Striker.

"Oh right, I remember! You're a _polished_ tin can!"

There was an angry yell followed by the sounds of an all out brawl.

Crimson sighed, 'shutting' his eye in frustration. "I hope this doesn't become a running gag."

Looking back, he saw Gipsy struggling in a headlock making strange growling noises while Striker did his best to hold on.

"Are you trying to bite me?!" he asked incredulously.

"Trying!" she shot back.

"You don't even have a bloody mouth!"

Crimson shook his head, exasperated. "Cherno..."

The Russian appeared beside him, one of the bands hanging from his fingers.

"...Can you please help me with this?"

The next minute found the two fighters standing in opposite corners of the room, glaring at each other, while Crimson showed Cherno how to operate his new omnitool. The 'help' tab could be such a blessing. Having shown him the basics; "tap here to go there," Crimson finally addressed the sulking pair.

"Are you ready to shake hands yet?"

They nodded stiffly.

"Then please do so. We're watching."

Grumbling, the two stepped forward and shook hands, the creaking of metal giving away the force of their grips.

"Good," Crimson nodded, stretching out one of his hands. In it were two more omnitools taken from the dead. "Because we have a lot to look up."

Gipsy soon lost track of time after she slipped the band over her wrist. After Crimson had introduced them all to the codex and soon after that the extranet, she had been lost in a whirlwind of words and research. Crimson seemed to be particularly adamant about it, giving out links he thought they should all read, and he was right about most of them too, humanity's past being one such subject.

Pretty soon they had learned three very important things. One; it was no longer 2025 as they had thought up to that point, but 2184, about a hundred years in the future. Two; humanity had made it into space and met more aliens. Fun sized, friendly aliens. Three...

"There aren't any Kaiju," Striker said softly, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"So humanity never needed Jaegers," Gipsy added.

"So we shouldn't exist," Striker finished suspiciously. "So how the hell did we get here?!"

"It makes no sense," Crimson agreed.

"Of course it makes no bloody sense! Ya want to know what makes even less sense?! We're barely the size of our own heels! You hear what I'm saying?"

But Crimson looked to be far away, his single eye was staring into the distance while a hand came up and fingered the base of his neck. As he did, a visible shiver ran through his frame.

"Crimson?" Gipsy asked, concern evident in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"I died," the red Jaeger said softly. "The last thing I remember is... dying."

Like a bursting dam, the memories came back. Cherno keened in distress as he felt his reactor tower, as if worried he would find it melted away. Striker just stared blankly ahead, getting a vague recollection of what it felt like to blow up. Pain then nothingness. Gipsy felt much the same, only she'd felt the pain of her reactor overloading, feeling like a splitting bag as energy poured out of her until it ended in a bright flash.

Another chill settled in her spine as the last few moments of her past "life" came to mind and she realized that she had seen them. She had seen the Precursors. One single glimpse, but that was all it took to ingrain the image in her mind forever.

They were doing something, she could see it now. On the floating platform, one of the insect like beings was fiddling with a glowing sphere of light. Then her reactor hod gone critical... and she woke up here.

"Well... dying is... quiet the experience. Isn't it?" Crimson stammered, the feeling of his head getting torn off fading slowly."

Rumbling, Cherno nodded, moving his whole upper body as he lacked a neck to do so.

"So... we died... then we ended up here."Striker said slowly. "Stop me if I'm wrong, but does anyone else think this whole thing is fuck up?"

"Expletives aside, I am forced to agree."

"I mean, is this Jaeger heaven? The Kaiju are easy as shit to kill and-"

"They're not Kaiju."

"You know what I mean!"

"And your second point?"

"Annnnnnd... nothing... really," Striker finished lamely. "Their easy to kill, that's the only good thing I can think of."

"Well then," Crimson said, tapping his omnitool, "you'll be happy to know I have more _good_ news."

"Is that sarcasm?"

The red Jaeger paused in his typping. "Yes actually. As Gipsy found out earlier, we are in a place called Omega. It was rather easy to find in the codex for all the wrong reasons. Apparently Omega is the cesspool of the galaxy. A massive space station built out of an asteroid for mining purposes. When the ore ran dry it was abandoned and taken up by thieves, mercenaries and other scum."

"Lovely."

"So where are we on Omega?" Gipsy piped up.

"I don't know," Crimson admitted. "There should be map software on this thing, I just haven't found it yet."

"Good. Because do you know what I have?"

The three males paused in what they were doing and stared at her in rapt attention.

"Okay, I'll bite, what to you got?" Striker sighed.

"A plan!" she squealed excitedly.

They stared at her, in some cases with expressions ones of blank disbelief.

"That's a terrible thing to have!" Striker huffed.

"No, I think its just what we need," Crimson rebuked. "Please share."

"Right!" she clapped her hands. "Crimson, can you find us that map?"

The Jaeger in question nodded. "I believe so. Why?"

"Lets go exploring!"

"I thought we just did."

* * *

**Thank you all who reviewed. I can't tell you how good it feels to know someone likes your story enough to leave a review.**

**Anyway, I hope I can continue to write up to your expectations and continue to give you a good read.**

**As for updates... well I think weekly isn't too much trouble.**

**As for where this story is going you'll just have to wait and see.**

**DJ out!**


	3. Krogan and Talking Frogs

Well, things could have gone better. Gipsy sighed, the sound coming from deep in her vents. Her original plan of "meeting the natives" was relatively simple when she first came up with it. Go there and talk to people. If these aliens could be considered people. Come to think about she wasn't too sure what to think about these new aliens. She was pretty sure she should hate their guts for the Kaiju, but instead all she felt was a vague curiosity. Also, these aliens just seemed so... human... ish. Hence, her rather basic plan that had enough holes in it to embarrass Swiss Cheese. But, as Crimson said, they had nothing better to do. So go with her plan they did.

And, oh what fun they were having.

"SPEAK ENGLISH YA' WANKER!"

The terrified Turian tried to will himself to melt into the wall as a gold frosted visor was pressed to his face and a voice screamed in his ears.

He'd just said hello... then pulled a gun and tried to mug them. But did that warrant strangling him almost four feet off the ground?

Apparently so.

"L-Listen man," the Turian choked out, "I'm sorry, okay? Just please let me go!"

If Striker had a mouth no doubt he would have looked ridiculous trying to copy every one of the snarls and growls that he heard coming from the walking bird's mouth. "Is that suppose to be talking or are ya taking glass gargling classes?!"

There was a clang as Crimson face-palmed behind him, followed closely by a second one from Gipsy and Cherno's resigned rumble.

"What?" The Australian Jaeger asked dropping the alien and letting him slide to the ground as he turned to his comrades.

"You completely ignored the data packet I sent you, didn't you?" Crimson asked dryly.

"I don't need to know any more about Krogan mating rituals, thank you very much! Now where were we?" he grumbled, reaching out behind him and grabbing the unfortunate alien's collar before he could slip away.

"It wasn't about that!"

"Could've fooled me from the last stuff you sent," he grumbled and slammed the alien against the wall, choosing to ignore the crack of it's broken spine. "Now speak English, wanker!"

The Turian's eyes darted back and forth in a blind panic and it's mouth hung open. The rest of it's body hung limp in Striker's grip.

"Damnit!" Striker swore as he gave the alien one last finishing punch to end it's suffering and dropped the body with a grumble. "Stupid things can't take one silly hammering. What is this, weakling punching school for weaklings? Gimme a break."

He looked back to his fellows who were still glaring at him. "SERIUSLY, WHAT?!"

"Open the packet," Crimson growled.

"But-"

"Now."

After a moment of intense staring, Striker finally gave in and opened his omni-tool and accessed the data packet. After he had stared at it's contents for a long while he sighed.

"Well... that would've came in handy," he admonished, pressing a button and letting the translation data flow into his processors through a special link Crimson had come up with.

In fact, Gipsy thought Crimson was enjoying this a bit to much to be normal. Ever since he'd gotten his hands on his omni-tool his eye had been glued to the screen, soaking up information like a sponge. And he was good at it too. After reading through the technical manual only once he'd been able program the omni-tool in some of it's most advanced functions.

After only one read-through.

ONE.

She'd read through it five times and it still didn't make a lick of sense. Come to think about it, the only thing she wanted to know was how to get that fire program thingy Crimson had discovered on his. "Incinerate," it was called. As if plasma cannons weren't good enough, just imagine if she could throw _fire__balls_. Kaiju beware, Gipsy Danger just went all out badass.

If she could figure out the blasted thing.

At last Striker threw up his arms in exasperation. "Done. Happy?"

"Somewhat. Now that you can no longer fake ignorance please consider your past actions."

"Ah come on! That was only once!"

Cherno rumbled threateningly.

"Alright! So what if it was the seventh time! What do more do you want, ay?! A nice written apology with roses?"

"That would be nice," Gipsy replied.

The silver mech glared at her. "Not to you. And why the hell should I care?"

"Striker, you crushed an Asari's skull for saying hello."

"How was I suppose to know that? From what I heard it sounded like she said 'wanker'."

"And you killed her for it?"

"Yeah!"

Ever since they had left that little hidout where they first acquired their omni-tools the corridors they'd trekked through had been abandoned up until a few minutes ago. It was then they encountered their first Turian, who had been too far drunk to see that Gipsy wasn't even human and tried doing... _things._ She had pointedly ignored him, a very hard challenge of itself, and the group had passed without trouble. Well, three of them did. When Striker had past, the Turian had made the big mistake of groping his Angle Wings. There was a nice big blood stain on the wall as they walked away.

It was after that, and a good deal of walking later, the Crimson found the translation software in his omni-tool. After he'd turned it into a program able to be adapted into their systems they ran into a group of Vorcha, who had wisely backed off, though they hissed like tea kettles the whole while. Unfortunately, as Striker past one said something that roughly translated into; "Rarrrrrrrrr." And, of course, having no translator, Striker assumed that the "insult" had been directed at him. There were three rather _large_ blood stains left on the wall as they walked away.

Then they past a Turian, who actually called them racist after one glance. In his defence he was drunk, again, but that didn't stop Striker from delivering one fist-full of fuck you right in his face.

Next came an Asari, who was actually polite, stood aside and let out a rather nervous hello. Then got punched in the face. Random fact, Asari's skulls are actually weaker than a Turian or Vorcha. Who knew?

Then, when they were just walking up to the door, which, according to the map Crimson had found, lead to one of the main market places of Omega, a wild Turian had appeared. They were perfectly ready to just let him by when he pulled a gun on them and insisted they hand over their credits. Striker had been on him faster than you could say "wanker," under the false pretence that the alien had said just that. What he _did_ say was far more vulgar, but what Striker didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Now the Turian was dead. Tough luck.

That, in itself didn't irritate Crimson and the rest, but it was Striker's insistence of bashing his head into the language barrier and hoping he understood the random grunts that came from the alien's mouths. Because, despite Striker's insistence, the Turian was not asking for their sympathy.

"There. Now was that so hard?" Crimson asked as the Australian Jaeger shook his head as he absorbed the last of the data.

"No," Striker groused.

"Good. Will this happen again?"

"Probably."

"Good enough for me, lets go," Gipsy exclaimed, getting tired of the whole thing and just wanted to move on. There was still so much to see and explore.

"Gipsy, please wait!" Crimson shouted after her as she approached the door to the market. "Maybe we should plan this out. I mean, who knows what out there."

"Well its obvious none of us know," said Striker.

"Exactly. Well... something like that. My point is, as my pilots would say, we need a plan of attack."

"To quote someone _my_ pilots heard," Gipsy retorted, hand pressing the open door button. "I have a plan. Attack."

Whatever else was in her head died the moment the door opened.

Quick fact, the codex that Crimson had showed them lacked pictures of the different alien species. So far they had seen Turians, Vorcha, Batarians and Asari. That being said, she was completely unprepared for what was on the other side.

"Get out of-"

"TALKING FROG!"

As it turns out, a rocket propelled fist under the chin really can solve every problem.

-LineBreak-

"Aren't you on duty?"

Kriln Vranus looked up from the shot glass held in his hands.

The Batarian bartender was looking at him. In his hands he held another glass which he polished with a cloth.

"Naw. It's my day off," he replied, draining the shot with a flourish before slamming it down on the bar. "Another."

Shaking his head, the bartender reached behind him, picked up the bottle of Turian ale and poured him a refill.

As he cradled the glass between his armored hands, Kriln kept a careful eye to his peripheral vision. True, he was off duty, but what that really meant was that he wasn't guarding the front door of Afterlife and keeping order in the large nightclub. He had to say, he was living well under Aria's employment. The women came easy and the drinks flowed like water, for a price with a substantial discount of course. But that was in Afterlife. He preferred this little pub on the edge of one of Omega's markets. Mostly because he got free drinks due to some favors the bartender owed him for some past business.

More than that, he was unofficially keeping watch over the growing tension in the area. That being said, he carefully eyed the Eclipse mercs out of the corner of his eye. A small group of the merc band were gathered next to a shop not far off. Consisting mostly of Salarians and a few Asari armed with SMGs, they kept looking at a few shops that were in a defenceable position. No doubt planing out the best place attack plan for storming the area. He'd have to report this in. More than that, the number of Blood Pack in the area was growing as well. If they wern't careful they could have an all out gang war. The bad blood between the two merc groups had been growing in the past few week due to some attacks in the lower levels. People died and then more people wanted revenge for them then came one big fight before they backed off to lick their wounds and the cycle started up again. That time seemed rather near in the making, too close for Kriln's liking.

There were too many in the market, and one right shot could start an all out firefight. It didn't matter that it was Aria's turf, there would be blood either way.

"Look out," the Bartender leaned in and whispered in his ear and pointed, "Trouble."

Across the market, weaving in between the various shops strode a Salarian in Eclipse gear, a Lieutenant by the looks of him. As Kriln watched, he stopped and exchanged a few words with the leader of the first group. Whatever was said pleased him, for he left with a slight smile and made for a door right next the pub where Kriln sat.

Quickly looking back to his drink, Kriln tried to make himself inconspicuous as the Lieutenant approached.

Whether or not the Salarian actually took notice of him didn't matter as he went to open the door. As it opened, the Salarian paused and looked up at something then said, "Get out of-"

"TALKING FROG!"

Before Kriln could truly understand what just happened the Salarian was flying back, a fine spray of blood erupting from his shattered chin as he flew back a solid twenty feet... into a Krogan warlord.

It was... oh what was the human word? The domino effect. The corpse crashed into the Krogan with enough force to stagger the massive warrior into the pack of Vorcha behind it, who then tripped into the other Krogan behind them. Worse, they were all Blood Pack Kriln realized as he reached for the pistol at his hip, preparing to leap over the bar and take cover. Whoever just caused that was going to be in a world of hurt.

Then the puncher stepped into view and Kriln stared, speechless.

It was a mech, one of the most advanced looking mechs he'd ever seen. It was tall, almost eight feet high. It's thick limbs were covered in dull bluish grey armor and down it's arm ran a single red strip, starting on it's shoulder and going down to it's wrist. Three large metal flaps arched up from it's back, protecting it's head. As it turned to look around, Kriln was shocked to see what appeared to be an old style engine turbine imbedded in it's chest. It's brilliant golden visor briefly took in the group of Blood Pack it had knocked down with it's flying Salarian before it glanced around at the hundreds of others gathered in the market.

"Oh crap."

Kriln blinked as it spoke. It sounded distinctly female, a teenaged girl at that, with a slight metallic under tone.

"Wow. And you thought I was bad." The voice came from the door where the mech had just came and out walked another mech. This one was only slightly shorter than the first and painted a dull silver. It was more streamlined than the first and had... wings on it's back. It's voice was male and had an accent to it. It stopped just behind it's fellow and stared about.

"Well... this is different," it said.

Then came the rumbling like that of a volcano as a third mech stepped out. This one could not be any more different then the others. A solid mountain of green metal, standing almost a full foot over it's comrades. Most notable, was it's lack of a head. It's torso was one solid piece, reaching above it's shoulders like a giant bucket.

Then a forth stepped out and Kriln actually glanced at his shot glass to make sure he hadn't been drinking too much. It was painted a bright red, had legs like a Turian and _three_ arms. As it's head turned to look at him, he saw it's single eye gaze at him with an unearthly intelligence glowing behind it.

Then came a roar and Kriln actually jumped. He'd been so taken in by the mechs he'd completely forgot about the Krogan who had staggered to his feet and pointed at the strange group.

"Who threw that twerp at me?!" he bellowed, spit flying from his mouth with the force of his rage.

"She did!" The silver mech shouted back, pointing at his bluish compatriot.

Apparently that was all it took to drive the Krogan over the edge into a blood rage and charged at the mech.

Then Kriln though he'd drank an entire bottle of Krogan beer and his drunken haze he imagined he saw the mech start charging itself, meeting the Krogan halfway with a thunderous clang.

Whatever happened next was lost as Kriln dived over the bar and hunkered down with the bartender, waiting for the madness to end.

-LineBreak-

It was all pure instinct.

The moment Gipsy saw the Krogan charge she knew what she had to do. She charged, legs pounding against the ground as the Krogan drew nearer.

Pure instinct.

Her fist came up, moments before contact, elbow rocket flaring, and punched the Krogan in the gut with all the force of a speeding truck. It's armor caved in under the blow and it's eyes bugged out of their sockets as the air was knocked out of its lungs, stopping the Krogan mid-charge.

Gipsy, however, didn't stop.

Following her punch, she dropped her shoulder into the warlord's face and heard the satisfying crack of bone.

The warlord staggered back under her weight, blood spraying from his nostrils, and tried to grab her in his pain induced haze. She easily resisted his efforts, smacking away his hands and delivering a powerful uppercut to his chin, knocked the Krogan a full inch off the ground before crashing to the ground.

Before he could recover, Gipsy was on him. She grabbed his thick neck, pulling him upright then pulverized his face with her fist, knocking him flat again.

By now the warlord's face had a distinctly caved in look around his eyes and Gipsy focused her efforts there. Grabbing his neck one last time she brought back her fist, elbow rocket roaring, and punched him clean between the eyes. His skull caved in under her fingers, burying her hand wrist deep in his brains. She pulled it out with a wet sound as she dropped the limp corpse.

She was suddenly aware of how quiet it was. The whole market had gone silent, watching her.

If she had known of the Krogan's reputation, she would have realized what a big thing this was. Killing a Krogan with her bare hands. But to her, this was just another Kaiju, and a rather weak one at that. It might have been as big as her, but she had more of a challenge with that Kaiju Leatherback. These thing were pushovers.

Then she heard a sound. Running footsteps, heavy ones, and getting nearer every second.

"Gipsy!"

She heard Striker's warning shout and turned to see another Krogan charging. It was almost on her, spit flying from it's mouth as it roared, totally ignoring the gun in it's hands. It was to close to dodge. As she braced for the impact a large green blur slammed into the Krogan from the side, knocking it clean off it's feet.

Where the Krogan once stood, the mountainous form of Chero Alpha towered above it, fist crackling with energy as his Tesla Fists charged to capacity. Then the Krogan made the last mistake of his life, he tried to get up only to meet a green fist to the face. There was a loud crack as the Tesla Fists released their loads, sending arcs of lightning across the Krogan's body before Cherno finished it off with another blow.

As the Krogan fell, all hell seemed to be unleashed.

Krogan charged from all sides, each one wearing red armor with a crude white skull painted on the shoulder, brandishing shotguns of various sizes. Half of them dropped their weapons altogether, preferring to tackle their foes and beat them to a pulp. Gipsy counted no less then seven running at them while another six stayed back and fired their weapons.

She started as the shots made contact. Flecks of sand flying at ludicrous speeds simply bounced off her armor, leaving a slight tingling feeling across her body. So their shots weren't a problem, at least, that far away.

As the Krogan approached, Gipsy and Cherno stood back to back, waiting for their first opponent to enter their range.

Suddenly, a Krogan shouted in surprise as his arm was wanked to side and he looked up, just in time to catch the red fist heading for his head. A single yellow eye glared at him as a second arm came around trying to wallop him, but he caught it as well. But he couldn't catch the third arm that darted forward, jamming a whirring buzzsaw deep in his skull.

Crimson grunted as he tossed the body away, taking a few steps back to stand beside Gipsy as the Krogan horde finally reached them.

To Gipsy it was all a blur of colors, impacts and noise. The sharp crack of lightning discharge and the buzz of buzzsaws predominated, followed closely by Strikers swearing.

As she finished off a Krogan with a quick blow to the face she growled as the tiny flecks of sand peppered her visor. She glared at the Krogan in the background, trying to snipe them with their shotguns.

"Cover me!" she shouted, activating her plasma cannons. As she did, he others formed a rough triangle around her, fending the remaining attackers as her cannons charged.

When they were fully charged Gipsy pointed and let loose twin blasts of plasma. The targeted Krogan didn't even have time to scream as the shots buried themselves in his throat. Working fast, she quickly emptied her clips, felling four more in the process and switched back to her fists as the remaining Krogan charged, apparently having no interest in becoming the next one picked off. But if they thought they could take the Jaegers down they were soon to be disappointed.

Crimson, Cherno and Striker had done well in keeping the aliens off her. Already six lay dead at their feet and the last was struggling in Cherno's grip.

As the final four closed in a commotion further in the market caught Gipsy's eye. Between the shops and stalls ran a makeshift street and down it Gipsy could see four more Krogan running flat out. Enemy reinforcements. And just like that, she had a solution, and a chance to gab at a certain silver Jaeger she knew.

"Striker!"

The Australian paused, mid punch, holding a Krogan by his neck as he glanced at her.

"Tit them!" she screamed, pointing at the advancing hostiles and hoping the noise of Crimson's buzzsaws would cover the gab.

Striker nodded, ejecting his Stingblades and driving them deep into the Krogan's throat. It went limp with a faint gurgle.

"Got it!" he shouted back, pushing past her as the flaps on his chest opened and brought his Kaiju missile launchers to bare. With six plumes of smoke, the missiles sped off on their deadly course. One caught the first in the legs, blowing off the appendage. As he fell, the others tipped over their leader, allowing the five other missiles to find their marks, detonating in a giant burst of flame.

And then there was silence.

Gipsy looked around, noticing for the first time that the place was empty, the various shoppers and venders having run off when the fighting started. Around them were scattered the bodies of almost seventeen Krogan, all of them bearing the marks of brutal hand to hand combat. Their armor was crushed inward, faces smashed in and blood pooled on the ground. Off to the side was a pile Vorcha that had been picked off by Striker in the battles opening.

She blinked, and looked at her fist appreciatively. Seems they were still meant to fight Kaiju. These Krogan wouldn't have been able to stand toe to toe with a Kaiju like Leatherback.

Then a low chuckle came from Striker as he said, "that was even funner than last time."

After a moment of considering his words, Gipsy's visor darkened. "Striker, are you making up words again?"

"It's a real word, dammit! Look it up!"

"Oh please, not this again," Crimson groaned, facepalming.

Before another word could be exchanged a rather timid Turian walked up from a quaint looking pub not far from their brawl. The only thing that kept him from becoming Jaeger food was the fact that, as they watched, he holstered his pistol at his hip and raised his hands over his head with an expression that just screamed; 'please don't kill me.'

Maybe if they handled this right they could avoid-

"What are looking at, wanker?"

Leave it to Striker to strike out at first contact.

"Nothing! Nothing!" the Turian said hastily, avoiding the large pools of blood that had formed as he approached. "Just... wanted to talk."

Cherno rumbled uncertainly, drawing the Turian's eyes.

"About?" Crimson translated for the Russian titan.

"A..." he paused searching for the right word, "employment opportunity."

There was a pause as the four Jaegers exchanged looks.

For the first time, Gipsy realized she was in charge of her new life. There was no PPDC to order her and her pilots about, tell her to fight Kaiju and all that. She could do what she wanted to do and who could tell her different.

"What kind of employment?" Crimson asked after a moment.

The Turian shuffled his feet. "Well, you see, our boss heard about your little brawl with the Blood Pack and would... appreciate someone of your skills."

Crimson crossed his arms, sceptical. "After only a minute of it taking place?"

"Word travels fast on Omega."

The silence ensued again, as they considered the Turian's offer.

"_What do you think?_" Crimson asked over their private radio, something else he'd discovered on their journey here.

"_He sounds a bit fishy,_" Striker mused, "_but I say why the hell not. It's not like we're doing anything else, are we?_"

"_He does have a point,_" Gipsy agreed. "_What do you think, Cherno?_"

A deep rumble echoed over the link.

"_Good point._"

Switching off her radio for a moment, Gipsy addressed the Turian again. "Who is your boss?" she asked.

"Aria," the Turian replied.

"Never heard of her."

As the Turian opened his mouth in surprise, Gipsy switched back into the line. "_So, what do you guys think. Should we do it?_"

"_I don't know,_" Crimson said hesitantly. "_I read something about her, not enough to make a good analysis, though._"

"_Good or bad?_"

"_Little bit of both. Stabilizing factor and the biggest crime lord on Omega. Without her this place would have been torn apart long ago._"

"_So... should we be worried about her?_"

"_A bit, yes. But, I imagine if we were under her employment we could expect some means of compensation._"

"_For what__?_" Striker cut in.

"_For ourselves of course,_" Crimson explained. "_You don't honestly believe that we can keep running indefinitely? In the Shatterdome we had maintenance crews and the such. Here, we have nothing. And I'm willing to bet that if we don't find somewhere to settle down we'll begin to suffer from overheating, overworked servos and other things. My point is, we can't keep on fighting forever. Maybe, if we accept his offer, we can arrange some sort of living quarters for ourselves as well as... hygiene __products__ so we don't end up looking like something that crawled out of Oblivion Bay._"

At that, Cherno let out a horrified trill.

"_There are. No. Zombies!_" Crimson exclaimed. "_It was a comparison. A. Comparison! Here, read my lips-_"

"_You have lips?_" Gipsy asked.

"_Never mind,_" Crimson groaned. "_Alright, I have two things to say. One, there are no zombies. Two-_"

"_What about Jaeger zombies?_" Striker asked, a grin evident in his voice.

"_Shut up,_" Crimson growled, glared at him. "_Second, we need a place to bed down. So, if you all agree with me, I vote we should take the job._"

After a sort while of consideration, they all gave their affirmative.

* * *

**Here you go, chapter three. Hope you enjoy!**

**Thank you to all who reviewed and left a favorite, thank you so much.**

**Also, if there is something that doesn't make sense please don't hesitate to let me know. I want to make this the best I can and I would really appreciate the feedback.**

**Up next, a meeting with Aria.**

**DJ out!**


	4. Whats an Aria?

Well, things couldn't be better. Gipsy smiled, her visor glowing bright as she followed their Turian escort.

When they had given their agreement to the job, the Turian, Kriln Vranus, had practically ordered them to follow him to Afterlife, wherever that was. She had to give him points for guts, though. Coming up to a Jaeger standing over a fresh kill and asking them for their services wasn't something people did on a regular basis. Still, here they were, heading off to this Aria's headquarters about a job.

A job.

For some reason that seemed incredibly funny to her. The picture of Striker walking into an office building with a briefcase and tie was so random it almost made her laugh.

A Jaeger with a job that wasn't killing Kaiju. Maybe insurance salesmen for everything they break?

She snorted as she thought about it, drawing looks from her brothers in arms as they walked along beside her.

They were passing through a maze of twisting corridors and passages, each one fulled with people. Or aliens, depending on how you looked at it. They all wore some kind of armor, had at least one gun on them and all backed away as the Jaegers approached.

Maybe it was their looks, their thick armor, glowing visors or the fact that they were, as Kriln had told them, were giant mechs. Though she never corrected him, saying that they were Jaegers, Crimson had said it would probably be easier to let that assumption stand. Less unwanted explanation and all that. Another reason was that their arms and chest plates were covered in Krogan blood. Whatever the reason, the people they past stayed well clear of them. She also noted that no one asked any questions. All they got were looks, either wary, fearful, challenging or down right covetous. But she did hear the whispers as they past.

New prototype mechs was the phrase she heard the most often.

Kriln was right, news did travel fast on Omega. Not ten minutes out of their fight and already a quarter of the station knew of their presence.

She sort of liked that.

She now had a reputation. Well... they now had a reputation. She couldn't forgot about Crimson and Cherno... Striker, on the other hand.

Before she could carry on with that thought the corridor Kriln had been leading them through ended at a door which opened up onto a wide boulevard. As they walked on, Gipsy couldn't help but stare at the surrounding sights.

One side a flat metal wall, interspersed with doors and windows but the other side was blocked only by a railing that stopped you from falling into empty space. Beyond that railing, she could see giant upside down skyscrapers lit with hundreds of glowing windows.

"_Now that's a sight,_" Striker said over their radio, sounding amazed. "_You don't see something like that every day._"

"_You don't see a Jaeger every day, either,_" Crimson replied dryly, eyeing the various aliens that lined the boulevard. It seemed that they were now the center of attention, the giant eight foot tall mechs that had just killed a whole bunch of Krogan with nothing but their bare hands.

Cherno rumbled, causing a few of the crowd to shrink back.

"_No, I don't think they'll try anything,_" Crimson assured him."_For all they know we're Aria's property, and the last thing anyone what's to do is mess with her._"

Striker stiffened at the word. "_Property?_" he growled.

"_It's the only proper word I could think of, relax,_" said Crimson. "_Or rather, think about it as a dog marking his territory. Once an object is marked, the other dogs, if they consider him a big enough threat, will stay away._"

"_I'm not letting that bitch piss on me if that's what your saying._"

"_It was a COMPARISON._"

"_Well, she hasn't "marked" us yet so I think these wankers are just scared shitless __of__ us. I like that._"

"_True, but we are being led by one of her men... but you know what, I think you're partially right._"

"_Uh yeah, duh? Look at us. A Kaiju would find us terrifying._"

Sparing a glance back, Gipsy couldn't help but agree. Their entire lower arms were drenched in blood, seeping into their joints and clotting on the metal. She suddenly realized the logic of Crimson's argument of taking the job. They needed to find a place where they could wash it all off in relative safety and maybe this Aria could help them with that. But while she was divided about whether a Kaiju would run in fear, there was no doubt that their very existence sent shivers down the spines of all who saw them. Krogan in particular. The reason being that Crimson had pulled off one of the brute's head plates and was cleaning off the inside with his fingers. He said that while his side with the single arm had adequate protection, he felt the joints of his other side, the side with his double arms, were uncomfortably exposed, and until he found proper armor the headplate would have to do. If he could find a way to secure it.

Needless to say any Krogan who saw the red Jaeger wearing a headplate backed away for fear of becoming his next victim.

"_Uh, quick question,_" Gipsy spoke up, still looking at the inverted towers. "_If a skyscraper is upside down can it still be called a skyscraper?_"

There was a pause.

"_I don't know,_" Crimson said slowly.

"_More like a grounddigger when you think of it,_" Striker suggested.

Gipsy was about to reply when something caught her eye. There, fast approaching, was one of the colorful buildings she'd ever seen. Suspended over the edge of the boulevard by thick support struts the giant can of a building rose above them like a Jaeger to humans, covered in glowing holograms of Asari... dancing?

"_Well I'll damned if I came here for DANCE lessons!_" Striker swore as they approached the large door out front, which had a surprising large line up of people waiting to get in.

"_It's not... that kind of dancing,_" Crimson replied awkwardly.

"_Really? Then what kind is it?_"

"_You'll see._"

Whatever was said after that was lost to Gipsy as they shoved their way past the line. Well, Kriln did. Pushing past people who shoved back indignantly, thinking he was just another patron trying to butt in line. Soon the Jaegers found themselves to be an island in the churning mass, earning quite a bit of space as the crowd backed away, still making trouble for Kriln, who was trying to persuaded them that he was one of Aria's men. Apparently they had heard that many times before and didn't believe him.

Suddenly the door to the establishment opened with a hiss and a group of Turians staggered out, half of them drunk out of their minds. That would have been okay, if one of them hadn't caught sight of Striker.

"Hey... *hic* buddy!" the Turian slurred, brandishing a bottle of stuff as he stumbled towards the Australian, the crowd giving him plenty of room when they saw where he was headed.

Whatever he was going to say next was silenced as he tripped, catching himself on Striker's frame. Then he found himself on the ground and the last thing he saw was an armored foot heading straight for his face.

Stiker grumbled as he pulled his foot clear of the bloody mess, meanwhile the crowd stared on in horror.

"Do you make a habit of killing everyone you meet?" Everyone started and looked at Crimson, not quite believing that it was the mech that had spoken.

Before Striker could reply, Kriln finally fought his way out of the crowd, motion for them to follow, as he stepped up to the Elcor bouncer.

The Elcor stared at the Jaegers before saying in an emotionless voice, "With surprise and shock: Where did you find these, Kriln?"

"Out in the markets," Kriln replied. "Can you let us in?"

The Elcor nodded it's massive head before the door behind it opened, earning many protests from the lineup.

As they stepped in and the door closed behind them, Gipsy couldn't help but feel a bit nervous, and not the good kind either. The holographic flames licking the walls as they approached the main area doing nothing to quell her fears. Something very big was going to happen, she could feel it.

-LineBreak-

Aria didn't like this. She didn't like this at all.

It had only been ten minutes since she'd gotten word of the firefight in the market with the Blood Pack verses... mechs? She'd raised an eyebrow at that.

Mechs? Were the Eclipse losing their nerve? Sending in only mechs to fight their wars for them? There had been tensions between the two groups for a while now so she wasn't very surprised. Either that, or the Eclipse were saving up their man power to assault Afterlife directly.

Then the pictures had come in. Quick stills taken from behind cover of the strangest mechs she'd ever seen. They were big, almost, if not bigger, then a YMIR mech. And they were killing Krogan with their bare hands.

For a while she couldn't help but stare at the pics, wondering if someone was fucking with her. No, they wouldn't risk their _lives_ over something like this. So what the hell were those things? The pictures were too blurry to make out any defining features so she decided to wait for more news. Then a message had come in from one of her men on the scene, a Kriln Vranus, and asked what to do about these AI.

At that she actually paused.

Were they Geth? On her station?

She impatiently read his explanation for using the term. Apparently they seemed to have their own personalities and voices. That, and they were so different from each other that he didn't know what to call them. Geth didn't have three arms or were a bucket headed cyclops armed with buzzsaws and swords.

So she sent out the order to bring them to her. Intact, or in pieces. Then Kriln said he'd gotten their cooperation by say she wanted to speak with them and they were on their way. She was peeved that he'd offered a job as a hit squad without her consent, but maybe, _maybe_ if they were good enough she might just give it to them.

Then she caught herself. Giving mechs_, AIs,_ a job? Did someone fuck with the galaxy and she didn't know it yet?

She was even more peeved when she couldn't find any trace of where they'd come from. Shipping manifests were a no-go as where all cargo and passenger entering Omega, and so far as she knew no one had the resources or the means to make mechs like that. It was like they had literally appeared out of nowhere.

Now she waited for the mechs to appear. The bright lights of the inside of Afterlife, coupled with the fantastic show her strippers were putting on entertained her for a bit before she saw the main door open. In walked Kriln followed by... a giant metal human. At least, it looked like a human in some of the heaviest armor Aria had ever seen. But as she stared she started to see things that counteracted that idea. In the joints, where there would usually be a thin layer of under-armor there was only thick servos and cables. Not to mention the engine turbine in it's chest.

Then the other three came in and Aria couldn't help but agree that none of them were the same, very unlike the uniform Geth she'd heard about.

One of them was silver and more more streamlined then the rest. Another was painted red, had three arms and a single eye that turned on it's neck, gazing at anything that caught it's interest. She happened to notice it tried to avoid the strippers if possible. Then there was a giant, green cyclops. All bare machinery, looking the least advanced one of all, with a single bright light glowing in the center of it's bucket like head. And they were all big. The green one, being the tallest, reaching almost nine feet high, and even the short silver one was only seven foot eleven.

She glared at them as they followed Kriln to her private balcony overlooking the club. When they reached the stairs up, her guards stopped them, insisting that only one be allowed up to speak with her. The mechs looked at each other, communicating silently before the first one stepped up, the blue one with the turbine. As it climbed the steps with her guards trailing behind it, the others were lead away to a booth. But she quickly lost interest in them as the blue mech walked through the open door, it's feet clanging on the metal floor benighted them. It must be heavy, she didn't hear footsteps like that, not even from Krogan.

As it stood before her, much to her surprise, the mech raised a hand and waved with a somewhat reluctant, "hi."

Her eye ridge shot up as she took a seat and leaned back into one of the couches that occupied the balcony. Then she stared at, hard and long, taking in every single detail. It went on for so long the mech actually started to fidget under her stare.

It _fidgeted_. Just like a normal human.

That was some AI.

"So I heard your the ones who started that fight in the markets," she began slowly, frowning.

The mech fidgeted even more. "It was an accident. Really."

The eye ridge went up even higher. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I never expected that frog to fly so far. Honest."

If it was possible, her eye ridge reached the top of her forehead. "Frog?"

"Sorry. Salarian, I mean."

There was a long pause.

"My men tell me that you "flattened" a group of Blood Pack with nothing but your bare hands," Aria continued. "Under normal circumstances I'd think they were trying to fuck with me. But seeing you... I find that's a reasonable explanation."

The mech perked up. "Really? Well, its a talent of ours. Taking down big things in the shortest amount of time, it's a running competition between us." It paused then, a deep hiss coming from it as it's vents opened to let in fresh air before saying "Is this an interview?"

"In a way," Aria replied. She was beginning to like this thing. Not the way it talked, but it's impressive combat record. If the reports were accurate, these mechs could do even more damage then a team of highly trained N7s. Something she would like to have under her command.

A small grin started to form on her lips as she looked it the visor. It's yellow frosted visage stared back, unblinking.

"Alight," she said at last, leaning forward. "I think I have a use for you. You want a job and I got one. What do you say?"

She left out the part where, if they refused, they'd be turned into spare parts. Better to get the jump on them that way.

"Okay," the mech said cheerfully.

Well that was easy.

"Good," she said, smile dropping as she leaned back. "Do you have a... designation or whatever?"

It seemed to bristle at the word. "I have a _name_, and its Gipsy Danger."

-LineBreak-

"_So how long is this bloody thing gonna take?_" Striker grumbled, shifting his seat as he tried to get comfortable.

Crimson shrugged. "_I don't know. Could take minutes, could take hours._"

"_Dammit._"

Crimson couldn't help but sigh as Striker swore irritably and leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table as he tried to keep his Angle Wings from getting squished. Annoying things, those Angle Wings. You couldn't sit right with them. Sure they helped with balance but he could do without them. That being said, Crimson leaned back into the soft cushions of the booth and let his joints relax. He'd never sat on anything like this before. It felt like he was sitting on a cloud.

As he felt the stress bleed out of him, he glanced about, eye scanning for danger.

After Gipsy had gone up to talk to Aria, Kriln had led them to a booth then disappeared, most likely reporting to his superiors. Still, it was a fine booth, giving a fantastic view of the whole of Afterlife. At least, that's what Kriln had said. To Crimson it seemed like it provided the best place to stare at near naked dancing Asari. Seems that there were different definitions of "fantastic view."

But other than that, the booth was quite simple. A circular couch with a round table in the middle. There were drinks too for whatever reason. Some random Asari had just come up put down four glasses of blue... stuff with a wink before walking away. _Why_ she had done that they had no idea. They had even less idea what to _do_ with them. They couldn't drink it, obviously, and Crimson thought it rude to dump them out and he didn't know what people would think if they just gave them away... so there they stayed. In fact Cherno was the only one who'd picked up his glass and it was rather amusing to see the tiny shot glass clenched between two of his massive fingers. It just looked so tiny compared to his mit-like hands.

The green giant purred as he stared down into the liquid, watching his reflection shift within it's depths.

"_They're looking at us,_" Striker spoke up irritably, glaring at another group of assorted species as they passed by. They all stared at the Jaegers like animals on display.

Then Crimson began to reevaluate what Kriln had said about a "fantastic view." Was it the general view of the club or of _them_? As his eye roved the area he started leaning towards the latter. Their booth was set in such a place that it was easy to see from all angles. As he glanced to the other booths he saw people hurriedly look away, but some just stared back, evaluating them.

He didn't like it. It was too exposed. Also the "view" was getting rather annoying. The strippers just wouldn't stop _dancing_.

Finally giving up on keeping watch, he pulled out the Krogan head plate from beside him and set it on the table. It was a dull red, a bit duller than he like, but it would have to do. Now if only he could find a way to attach it. What little protection it offered would be appreciated, not to mention the intimidation factor to gave.

That was never more apparent as a trio of Krogan stalked by, giving them a wide berth and dirty looks as they beheld his trophy.

But would it work? He had to admit he hadn't really thought this through. In fact, his buzzsaw had gone through these things with ease. Did he really want something like _that_ protecting him?

Probably not.

Whats more, why was he going through so much trouble to attach it if it was so weak?

With that, he set the head plate beside him once more and fell into looking around the club again, waiting for something to happen. He didn't have to wait very long.

"Hey there."

He turned to look at the Asari that just appeared beside their booth. Her cocky smile, coupled with her clothes, or lack there of, properly announced her occupation.

"Can we help you?" Crimson said slowly, shooting Striker the "let me handle this" look.

"I think the real question is can I help you?" the Asari replied, resting her hands on the table and leaning forward. Crimson kept his eye firmly focused on her face and not the twin orbs beneath it. He wasn't too sure where Striker or Cherno were looking but he hoped it wasn't down _there_.

"We're not interested," he said firmly.

"Are you sure?" she asked leaning even further forward. "You seem a little... tight under those plates. Maybe I could... help you undo a few bolts. Hmm?"

Crimson glared darkly at her, before raising his hand and shifting into it's buzzsaw. The Asari jumped back as the teeth started spinning with growing speed.

"I said: We're. Not. Interested."

"What he said," Striker cut in. "Besides, you're not all that impressive."

The Asari stiffened, face rather upset, before something dropped from her "clothes" and rolled behind her. She turned and bent down at the waist, giving them a good view of her-

_Don't look at it_, Crimson thought to himself, fixing his gaze firmly on the glass of alcohol in front of him. _Don't look at it. There are somethings in the world __that__ just __scar you for life__. Give me a Kaiju any day._

When he dared to look up the Asari was gone, Cherno was back to staring at his glass and Striker was staring off in the way that she had departed. Then his head turned to look at Crimson.

"_Hey, Crimson,_" he began slowly.

"_What?_" the Chinese Jaeger replied reluctantly, getting a pretty good idea of the next topic.

"_Are Asari suppose to have a big cut in between their legs?_"

"_W-what_?" Crimson stammered. Even though he knew something like that was coming it was still rather a shock.

"_Well, I just couldn't help but notice this big cut. Shouldn't she be bleeding out by now?_"

There was silence. After a full minute Crimson sighed, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands before saying, "_you know nothing about women do you?_"

"_I know how to pick 'em up._"

"_Beyond that._"

"_No, not really._"

"_CRIMSON!_"

Crimson jumped as Gipsy's voice filled his audio sensors. He collected himself for a moment before replying, "_Gipsy, is everything all right?_"

"_I think so,_" she said, sounding slightly panicked."_Okay, I got good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?_"

"_Um..._"

"_Well first we __got a job as a hit squad. Yay!_" she continued quickly. "_Then I told her what you told me about that stuff we need to keep ourselves running and now she's staring at me with the KAIJU LOOK!_"

"_The what?_"

"_The Kaiju look_," Striker interrupted. "_The "I'm gonna take all your hopes and dreams and stomp 'em into the shit" look._"

"_Yeah, that one,_" Gipsy continued. "_But now she's staring at me and I don't know what to do!_"

"_Punch __her__ in the face, that should reset everything,_" Striker suggested.

"_How is that suppose to help?_"

"_It worked the __first__ few times, didn't it?_"

"_No it... wait!_"

There was a pause on the radio, leaving Crimson holding his breath.

"_Okay, she asked what do we need. Or... something like that. What do I say?_"

Quickly, Crimson brought up his omni-tool and started reading from the list he had compiled, at least the things they couldn't buy with credits. That included a place with an adequate power supply, had at least nine hundred square feet of space and washing facilities. He left out most of the other items because they could be easily purchased in the market, and he didn't feel like pushing their luck after asking for a room, if the way Gipsy's panicked sounding delivery was be believed.

_Unbelievable,_ he thought to himself. _We face down Kaiju on a regular basis and now someone like Aria scares us half to death. Well... Gipsy, anyway._

Unfortunately they couldn't hear Aria over the radio, so it was a completely one-sided conversation with Gipsy seemingly talking into thin air. But from her responses it was apparent that things were going well.

After a while the radio fell silent, and before long they saw Gipsy stride down the steps to the Balcony and head their way.

It was rather amusing to Crimson the way heads turned to watch her, without a doubt no one in the club had ever seen a mech like her before. It was even more amusing to watch a Krogan step aside for her, probably after smelling the blood that drenched her lower arms. Another reason for the washing facilities. He could feel the blood drying in the joints of the fingers that formed his buzzsaws. They have to get that stuff out to keep it from rusting.

"So, what's the verdict?" he asked as she sat down in the booth.

Her vents hissed as she let out a relieved sigh. "Well, as I said before, we are the new heavy hit squad."

Cherno rumbled a question.

"It means we handle the jobs others can't," Gipsy replied. "I rather like the idea. We're still the same when it comes to big stuff."

"The bitch didn't happen to say what kind of stuff we'll have to do, did she?" Striker asked.

"Well, fight Krogan for one. Assault fortified buildings, settle gang wars, collect debts from reluctant debtors..."

"What do you mean by "settle gang wars?"" Striker interpreted.

"Don't know. I think it means just kill everyone until they don't have enough people to keep fighting anymore. Or they're all dead."

Striker chuckled. "I think I'm gonna like this job."

"And what about our quarters," Crimson asked, looking over to her.

"Oh, Aria said someone would come pick us up and bring us there. Should be here shortly."

"Are they... good?"

"I don't know, she said she would get us _someplace_ and I thought that was okay." Her visor glowed in a smile as he looked about. "So, what have you guys been doing?"

"Not a damn thing," Striker replied as he motioned to the drinks on the table. "They gave us these and we have no idea what to do with them."

"Well you could _drink_ them."

There was a pause as Striker gave her the "are you stupid" look before she relented. "Right, dumb thing to say, with us being Jaegers and all... not being able to drink... I just made myself sad."

Suddenly Striker perked up. "Oh I just remembered, we're going to need a name."

They all cast him puzzled glances.

"You know, like a group name. Something people say when we walk by like "oh look, here come the Strikers!""

"The Strikers," Crimson said dryly.

"What? Is there something wrong with it?"

"No. Not at all. It's just so... you."

"Yeah, I know, right?"

"Oh don't worry about it," Gipsy said cheerfully, poking her glass with a finger. "It's already taken care of."

"Oh." Striker seemed to wilt under the news.

"Yep," Gipsy continued, not noticing his anguish. "We are now _The Jaegers_. Perfect, don't you think?"

"The Jaegers," Crimson repeated, nodding. "I like it."

Cherno rumbled in agreement then straightened as a well dressed Asari approached their table. Her fashion was rather modest and she an air about her, the cranky landlady kind of air. She stopped before their table and stared at them with equal parts surprise and disapproval.

"Are you the Jaegers I was sent here to meet?" she demand.

"Yep," Gipsy chirped, standing up. She towered over the Asari by almost three feet.

The Asari stared up with a raised eye-ridge, taking her in before examining each one in turn and giving Crimson a long stare at his mixed up anatomy. "Well, Aria wasn't kidding when she said you stood out."

She motioned to the door. "Skycar is out back, follow me."

They followed her without question, out the door and into the raging line up, who again shrank back as they approached, giving Striker an extra wide berth then before. As they headed towards a row of parked Skycars, Crimson had only one thought in his head.

_I hope one of those things can fit all of us. _Being stuck in an inclosed space with a, possibly, claustrophobic Cherno was the last place he wanted to be.

* * *

**Well, chapter four is here...**

**I must admit I wasn't completely satisfied with it, even after three rewrites. I just didn't think I got the right interactions between them and Aira but this is the best I got out the three. Hope you enjoy.**

**Also, Master of the Dark Abyss, cool name by the way, you ask what game is this in and will they join Shepard's crew? The answer is yes, they will join the crew at a later point. As for what game it is set in 2184, just a bit before Shepard comes back from the dead... at least I hope I got the date right. Please correct me if I'm wrong. Before that happens however I plan to have a short plot line involving their presence on Omega and also dip more into how they got there.**

**Thank you for reading and please review.**

**DJ out!**

**(Cherno rumbles from afar)**

**You mean I have to do it EVERY chapter.**

**(Another rumble)**

**Fine. I do not own Pacific Rim, Mass effect or any of it's characters. Happy?**

**(A Jaeger thumbs up, the best kind of thumbs up)**


	5. Mechz and Haxz and Burning Beds

"Look at this place, what a dump!" Striker ranted, his voice echoing in the dark room. Entering through the door Gipsy, Crimson and Cherno looked about with interest.

Their new landlady, Miss Leora, the one who had driven them from Afterlife, had left to give them some room to explore their new home. It wasn't so bad. In fact the worst part had been trying to squeeze them all in the skycar. As it turned out Cherno was not claustrophobic, thankfully, but being squished in between him and Crimson in the back seat was hardly better. In fact how they had all fit into that tiny skycar was a miracle of itself. And why did Striker get the front seat? Oh right, his Angel Wings. The seat fit just perfectly in between them. Well, at least he'd stopped complaining for the ten minute ride to the apartment complex owned by said landlady.

After a careful extraction from the back seat, they'd been taken to what can best be described as the basement. But it was a good basement, Gipsy reflected, as they investigated the place.

It appeared to be an old safe house with thick walls, strong doors and the odd bullet hole here and there. It had five rooms, mostly unfurnished. Or rather four rooms, the living room and the kitchen were connected with only a long counter separating them. Then there were three doors on the right side looking in from the door. Two led into bedrooms while the last opened into a rough industrial bathroom. There were no windows, and when Crimson activated the lights the dull grey walls vaguely reminded Gipsy of the Shatterdome. In fact, it sort of added a homely feel to the bleak apartment.

She could learn to like it here.

There was no indication of anyone previously living here and a thick layer of dust covered everything. But there was some furniture, old and forgotten. A large couch in the living room, two beds, one for each bedroom, and the kitchen was stocked with the most basic of cookware, for whatever good it would do them. There was also a gun locker in one of the bedrooms protected by heavy encryption, if what Crimson said was true.

As she examined one of the mouldy sheets on the bed, Gipsy couldn't help but marvel at Crimson's amazing insta-learn skill. Seriously, one read through of any manual and he could do things like a pro. Except for somethings, like hacking, which he said would come with time and practise. With that in mind, Crimson would be a master in a matter of days. Cherno, maybe a few weeks. Gipsy, as soon as she could gleam something from the first few pages other than 'it was hard.' Striker, probably never, as he never even cared to open the manual.

"Not bad," said Crimson when they all gathered in the living room. "It's not the best but it's certainly not the worst."

"Not the worst he said," Striker snorted, falling back onto the couch which promptly collapsed under his weight.

"But I've been wrong before," Crimson admitted, looking down in morbid fascination as Striker picked himself up amidst loads of swearing and clouds of dust.

"When?" Gipsy asked, offering Striker a hand up which he begrudgingly accepted.

Crimson's eye darkened as he considered it. In only a few hours since they'd... woken up they'd decimated an entire company of Krogan, signed a contract with the most powerful gangster on Omega and were now employed by her for free lodgings. And in all that time nothing he'd told them had ever been wrong.

"I don't know," he said at last. Maybe it was just a saying he'd picked up from his pilots. "But now that we aren't under attack or otherwise occupied do you think we could talk about all... this?"

Cherno rumbled out a question.

"Well, this!" Crimson exclaimed, spreading all three of his arms to include everything around them. "How did we get here? _Why_ are we here?"

"And why have we shrunk," Striker added.

"Yes, that too," Crimson nodded, lowering his arms and crossing them over his chest. "So far all we know is that we died fighting Kaiju and then ended up here. There must be more to it then that."

Cherno warbled sadly.

The Chinese Jaeger shook his head. "No, I don't think there is any way for us to get home. And besides, I prefer being alive, despite how impossible it is." He threw his arms out again. "I mean, how is all this possible? We're Jaegers! We have _pilots_! We're not suppose to think for ourselves!"

"So," Gipsy said slowly, "you don't want us to be alive?"

"Of course not!" Crimson replied, sounding a tad offended. "I'm loving this, but... it makes no sense. And this isn't even the future of our world. You read the codex with me, right?"

"Yeah, you practically shoved it down our throats," Striker grumbled.

"First, you don't have a throat. Second, there was no Breach," Crimson continued, "which means no Kaiju which means no us. I mean, the history in the codex about humanity is the exact same up until 2013. In our... _world _the Kaiju attack and everything happens the way we remember it. Here, everything continued as normal up until Prothean ruins were discovered on Mars. So this, basically, is not even our home _dimension_ if what I believe is correct. But... how?"

There was silence, broken only be the creaking of their armor as they shifted on their feet. He was right. It didn't make sense.

"But," Gipsy spoke up after a minute, "didn't they say that the Breach was a _breach_ in dimensions? Maybe we-"

"Slipped through a gap," Crimson interrupted, stroking the lower rim of his single eye like one would their chin. "It's possible. From what we knew the Breach connected two dimensions and maybe, _maybe_, their was a gap in the connection that..." He shook his head. "But that makes even less sense. None of us even got inside the Breach to make it happen."

"I did."

They all turned to look at Gipsy who seemed to shrink under their stares.

"I fell into the Breach," she elaborated, voice shrinking as the painful memory returned, "ridding the signal of a dead Kaiju and... detonated my core." She fingered the outside of her glowing turbine, feeling it tingle beneath them.

"Ouch," Striker grunted.

"But that doesn't answer anything. No offence," Crimson continued, giving Gipsy an apologetic nod. "You closed the Breach, so this shouldn't be possible. Even if we did go through it into another dimension we should have just ended up... _there_, where the Kaiju come from."

Shrugging, he said, "but I suppose it does us little good worrying about it. The most important thing is here and now. Power, for instance."

He motioned to Gipsy and Cherno. "How are your Cores feeling?"

"Fine," Gipsy reported while Cherno warbled in agreement.

"Good, you were meant to run for years without a refuel, so that's one problem taken care of. As for us..." He motioned to himself and Striker. "Our Cores aren't nuclear so I don't believe fuel will be an issue for any of us. Well, for a while anyway."

"Alright," Gipsy nodded. "So what now? We got a place to stay, as dirty as it is."

"I'm glad you asked," Crimson replied, activating his omni-tool and flicking through it. "Right, everyone turn on yours and go to the finances tab."

When they had done so and Crimson had pooled together all the credits found within they came up with a quite impressive amount of over fifty thousand credits. It seemed that the Blue Suns they'd taken these from had been in their fair share of drug deals and extortion rackets.

"Well, that sets us on the right track," Crimson grinned, his single eye brightening, opening up a new tab on his omni-tool. "I have composed a list of everything we need for our continuing operation. The room is now taken care of, though I think we need some sort of heavy duty duster to clean it up along with other cleaning supplies. On top of that there are some primary items we need. Coolant, for one and an advanced mech maintenance kit are what I would consider top priority."

He looked up at Gipsy. "Did Aria say when we were needed?"

"No," she replied, "just to be ready when she calls."

"That gives us plenty of time then." He tapped his omni-tool and Gipsy's device pinged as a message was received.

"What's this?" she asked, opening the message.

"Your end of the list," Crimson replied. "I've searched through Omega and found only a few places that offer the more advanced stuff I'm looking for. The less vital stuff is available in the markets. So, I suggest we split into teams. Cherno and I will get the more important articles and you and Striker can get the other stuff."

"Alright," said Striker. "Go there, get the stuff, get home. How hard could it be?"

-LineBreak-

"_Alright, this is a bit harder than I though__t__,_" Striker admitted, looking about at the dozens of shops. Beside him, Gipsy nodded.

After Crimson had detailed their little outing into the underbelly of Omega to search for the necessary items, they had taken a skycar from the terminal outside the apartment complex, after a quick briefing of operation from Crimson, and headed off to one of the markets. Thankfully, a different one than where they had pulverized those Blood Pack earlier. But it seemed that what Kriln said was right, news spread fast on Omega. While some took the advice to "stay away from the big mechs" others threw the messengers out the window and ignored it completely. Hence the three, rather unfortunate Batarians who they had been forced to "disarm" when they landed.

While that had relived most of the stress built up over having to spend twenty minutes in the cramped skycar with Striker it didn't help to quell her nervousness as they walked into the busiest days that the market had ever seen. It was far busier than the first, with groups of aliens left and right, mercs hanging around in the dark corners and drunks and stoners staggering home from the bars, all hurrying about like ants. And they cast wary glances at the Jaegers, standing in the middle of the chaos like an island with a good five feet of empty space between them and the crowd.

They didn't mind that, but they were thrown off when they learned that there were almost twenty shops that claimed to sell the things that they needed but actually didn't for outrageous prices. There were a few places Crimson had recommended but he completely forgot to mention where the hell they were.

So there they were, after about an hour of searching, standing outside a place called "Mechz and Haxz" run by a rather sleazy looking Elcor, if such a thing was possible. Behind the counter were the weakest pieces of crap Gipsy had ever seen. It looked like someone had taken Coyote Tango, taken away most of his armor, lost the mortars on his back, painted him white and red and gave him a puny pistol. It made her sick just to look at them and even Striker admitted they looked like shit. She could probably go up and tear one apart with her bare hands. And the Elcor reminded her too much of Leatherback for her tastes.

But, the shop had the most chance of having the items that were looking for, cleaning supplies mostly and some cleaning formula able to get in a mechs joints and clean them without damaging anything.

"_Well,_" Gipsy said, sucking in air through her vents to cool the heat she'd felt building there for the past few hours. "_Lets do this._" With that, she started walking confident strides towards the shop with Striker following behind.

When they reached the counter, the Elcor had his back to them, staring at some screen embed in the wall. So, seeing no other way of getting his attention, Gipsy slapped her hand on the metal counter, making a dent inches deep.

"_We're not paying for that, __agreed?_" Striker said as the Elcor jumped at the noise and turned, taking in the Jaegers with gleaming eyes.

Then it spoke in a dull monotone. "Excitedly: Are you for sale?"

"What?!" Gipsy stiffened, fists clenching as the Elcor continued, oblivious to the fact that he'd just waded into dangerous waters.

"Excitedly: Command override 3387, identify owners."

"The only owners we have are ourselves, wanker!" Striker exclaimed, shoving Gipsy aside and leaning over the counter to get in the alien's face. "And if you try that override shit stuff again I'm gonna pound your face into the ground!"

"Curiously: Why, did it work?"

"No!"

"With disappointment: Aww."

Having enough of the shopkeeper's insistence on buy them, Striker reached out and grabbed the Elcor under its massive chin and pulled it's head over the counter with ease.

"Now listen here," he growled in the alien's face, "I'm in a bad mood and we got stuff to get. Do you have it or not?"

"Alarmed: What are the strength rating on your servos?"

"Strong enough to crush your skull like an egg," Striker replied. "Now, we need a... a... hmm."

He looked over his shoulder to Gipsy. "What was it we needed again?"

Sighing, she opened her omni-tool and selected the list Crimson had given them. "A standard industrial cleaning kit for mechs with an above average sensitivity."

"Yeah, that," Striker nodded before gripping both sides of the Elcor's head and pulled them closer so it's breath condensed on his visor. "So, you got or not?" he asked, adding just a little bit of squeeze to his hold.

"Panicky placating: I think there's one in the back... Humbly: Please let me go."

Giving him one last glare, Striker released him and the Elcor jerked back before retreating to a door in the back of the shop and disappeared inside.

"_That... could have gone better,_" Gipsy said over the radio, glancing at the door.

"_Meh, __i__t felt good though,_" Striker shrugged, leaning against the counter.

They stood like that for a while watching the shoppers go by, meanwhile thuds and bangs came from the back room.

"_Sorry._"

Gipsy straightened, slowing looking over to Striker as he slumped against the counter. In fact it looked like he was sulking.

"_What?_" she asked.

"_Sorry,_" he repeated, looking away. "_About Yancy, I mean. I've never had a pilot, ya' know, die on me. __So just... sorry. Insulting you like that was just low._"

"_You,_" Gipsy gawked, "_saying sorry?_"

"_It won't happen again, trust me,_" he grumbled. "_But... what did it feel like. Having him... ya' know._" He motioned upward vaguely.

"_Like something you can't imagine,_" she said softly, shaking her head sadly. "_I wasn't... alive yet, so... __Raleigh __and Yancy, they were all I had. I saw through them, I remember things they knew... they were all I was._"

"_Amen to that,_" Striker nodded. "_Herc and Chuck, when they were in my conn-pod... they were me._"

"_Yeah, two parts of a whole. And when he died..._" She shivered. "_It was like part of me vanished in heartbeat. It was there... then it wasn't. Half of me... died._"

Her vents let out a choked cough. "_And I could feel it all. I felt him die as that... _bastard_ took chunks out of me. It was more painful than __overloading __my core__, I swear._"

Before the conversation could go on, the back door opened and out walked the Elcor pushing a trolly with a large box on it.

"Business-like: One industrial cleaning kit generation 4 version 8," it said, pushing the trolly through a hole in the counter. "All yours for a mere five thousand credits."

It was then Gipsy was glad she'd taken Crimson's instructions to heart, easily transferring the credits with an easy wave of her omni-tool.

"Looks alright," Striker said, prying open the box and peering inside.

"Offended: I offer only the best products available for mech maintenance."

"Including this stuff?" Striker reached inside and pulled out a small packet of red sand like powder.

The Elcor shuffled it's feet nervously as Striker waved it in his face. "What's this then, eh?"

"Reluctantly: A side business."

"Whatever." Dropping the packet at it's feet, Striker went, closed up the box and picked it up with ease. As they made to walk away, they heard the Elcor speak up again.

"Curiously: I have not seen mechs like you before. Suspiciously: Are you Geth?"

Scoffing, Striker turned and, walking backwards, said, "those walking flashlights? We're _Jaegers._ Get it right, wanker!"

"_Well that went better than I expected,_" said Gipsy as they walked away.

"_Could have been better,_" Striker muttered, hefting the box in his grip. "_I didn't get to do PTR. It's funner that way._"

"_PTR?_"

"_Punch To Reset. Works best if delivered in the face, but there are some other places that work just as well._"

"_Heh. I'll have to remember that for when your being an ass._"

His head twisted sharply to face her. "_Hey!_"

"_It's true. You are an ass most of the time._"

"_I said sorry, didn't I?_"

"_Right. But you __said it wouldn't happen again, remember?_"

"_Shut up._"

They walking in silence for bit, parting the crowd like the red sea as they searched for another shop that Crimson had directly recommended. Then, after picking up what the shopkeeper _promised_ was a modern duster on pain of PTR, they started heading back to the skycar terminal. Then something in a vender's wares caught Gipsy's visor and she stopped.

"_What's the hold up?_" Striker asked, turning back to look at her from a few paces ahead.

"_Deja vu... I think,_" she replied, glancing at him then back to to what she'd seen.

"_Is __it__ contagious?_"

"_I d__on't know._"

"_Well __whatever it is I don't wanna catch it__, __lets go__,_" he said, adjusting his load and stalking back. "_What are you looking at anyway?_"

"_That._" She took her hand off the handle for the "duster," which she pulled behind her like a little red wagon, and pointed at the object. As Striker saw it his visor brightened.

"_Oh._"

"_Yeah. Oh._"

It was like watching a kids eye the largest lollipop in the candy store, only the kids were two ton fighting machines, at the most

"_How much do we have left?_" Striker asked, visor never leaving object.

"_Around fifteen thousand credits,_" Gipsy replied.

"_Think it's enough?_"

"_I think so._"

"_We should get it._"

"_We should._"

-LineBreak-

"What is this?" Crimson exclaimed, pointing at the object on the wall.

"Nebula V8 Generation 5," Striker replied from the broken couch where he and Gipsy sat, happily watching the screen. "One of the latest and best modern telescreens to date."

"Holoscreen," Gipsy corrected. "It's like one of those old TVs."

"Whatever."

Crimson could only sigh and shake his head at the overly large hologram that now covered the wall, projected by a little, rather banged up box on the floor, connected to a power outlet in the wall.

"Where did you even find it?" he asked curiously.

"Some guy in the market wanted to get rid of it," Striker replied causally. "No one seemed to want it though. Most took one look and ran the other way."

"I can only guess why," Crimson muttered dryly, eyeing the crud Blood Pack symbol painted on the projector.

"Yeah, neither could we," the Australian continued. "So we go up to this guy and ask how much. And guess what, he said he doesn't cater to mechs. So we talked and ended up getting the PTR discount."

"You stole it?!"

"No, we just got it for free. You see he was lucid enough to tell us to just take and get out."

"Is he still alive?"

"How should I know?"

"You are the one who punched him."

"No, that was Gipsy."

"Really?" the red Jaeger looked down to Gipsy who kept her visor focused on the screen.

"I still think I hit him too hard," she mumbled.

"Naw, that was perfect!" Striker chuckled, slapping her on the back with a loud clang.

"What happened?" Crimson sighed, crossing his arms.

"Well long story short, he ended up calling her a metal fuck toy. Enough said."

"I see," Crimson said. "Well at least it was free."

"Yeah, came with a free subscription too. Just had to plug it in and it worked like a charm. Almost ten thousand channels."

"Free subscription?"

"Yep. Krogan/Asari lifetime. Almost brand new too."

"That's nice," Crimson nodded, resting his hands on the back of the couch and leaning on it, earning a creak from the already broken piece of furniture. "What are you watching?"

"Dunno. It was on channel one thousand nine hundred and twenty three and I was tired of hitting the button."

"It's a cartoon."

"So?"

"Nothing, its just... what is _that_ suppose to be?"

"Don't know," Gipsy replied. "Its based on some kind of ancient creature that existed in the time of the Protheans. And Prothy the Prothean just stole it's magic orb from the temple. Oh look, now it's chasing him."

"Heh, I can run faster then that," Striker scoffed. "And look at his tiny legs. Hilarious."

"I see," Crimson said, pushing off the couch. "Anyway, Cherno is just unloading the stuff from the skycar and we need your help carrying it in."

The next half hour was filled with heavy boxes, whining servos, whining Strikers and those weird futuristic packing peanuts that filled the boxes. When they had finally gotten the last one inside it was that wild excitement that came with opening presents only with... limited excitement.

The stuff Crimson and Cherno had acquired was far more specialized and singular then what Gipsy and Striker had found, besides the holosrcreen (HS). That included a number of small specialized tools and a welder for whatever repairs they might need. There was also a smaller box that he kept closed, saying it would come in handy later. Then Crimson started looking through the cleaning kit they'd picked up, finding three more of the weird packets of red sand among the various bottles, cans of polish and brushes. They had no idea what the packets were so they just threw them by the HS until Crimson could look them up. But in all, Crimson was satisfied with the kit. When they got to the duster, however...

"What is that?!" Crimson asked horrified as he pointed at the device.

"It's a duster," Gipsy replied, giving the piece of machinery a fond pat.

"That's not a duster!" Crimson insisted. "That's an air compressor with a nozzle!"

"He said they did the same thing!"

In the end though it didn't really matter. Once Crimson had found the controls for the vents in the rooms and started up the fans on reverse the air compressor proved to be a big help, sending all the dust a flying and allowing the vents to suck it all up. Easy... right?

"How the hell did that happen?" Striker scratched the top of his head, gawking at the opening to the vent.

As it turned out, the bedroom vents had been without their coverings for quite some time. So when Gipsy came in, carrying the air compressor like a flame thrower, the moldy sheet had somehow flew up and got caught in the whirring fan. Problem was it was tangled up so much they couldn't just yank it loose without tearing out the fan.

"Well," Crimson said, activating one of his buzzsaws. "Does anyone else have better idea?"

Surprisingly it was Cherno who answered with a loud rumble before leaning back, aiming his Incinerator Turbines at the offending piece of fabric.

It was probably a good thing that the place lacked any fire alarms, less so that it didn't have a proper fire extinguisher. In the end they decided that easiest way to put out the blaze that had spread to the bed itself was to just shut the door and let it burn itself out. So, while Cherno stood by the door, periodically checking inside and letting out copious amounts of smoke, the remaining three tackled the bathroom, cleaning it and installing some upgrades Crimson had gotten for the shower. It was then they got another unpleasant surprise.

"This... is not what I ordered," Crimson growled. From out of the small box he'd brought in he pulled out... a shower curtain.

"Well what did you order?" Striker asked, poking at the alien fish pattern on a solid blue background.

"Industrial strength rubber weave. The cleaners you got will just melt through this over time."

From his position near the bedroom door, Cherno let out a worried groan.

"No it won't melt us. Just the junk on us."

In the end though they decided to use it anyway under the reasoning that they could just get a new one when it eventually failed.

When all that was done, and the fire finally burn out, they all gathered in the living room. It was defiantly cleaner then when they first came in. The dust was gone, good bye vent and joint clogging nuisance, and the place just had the homely feel.

Then came the part they were all looking forward to.

After Crimson had sorted through the box of cleaning supplies and giving them an amount of how much they should use, they all took turns in the shower to wash off the blood from their earlier brawl.

As Gipsy stood under the warm spray from the shower head she couldn't help but let out a shiver of delight. The warm water running down her frame was pure bliss. It was like standing in a warm summer rain, soaking into every crack of her armor, washing away the grime of the last fight and leaving her refreshed in a way nothing else could.

Relishing the feeling, she gently brought the soaked sponge over her blood stained wrists and arms, watching as the clearer washed away the impurities and leaving her armor sparkling clean.

After she had rinsed and dried off she left the bathroom. The others were sitting around watching the HS as something that resembled the news flashed by on it's surface. She would've liked to join them, but she felt... tired. Her movements felt slow and slugish and her mind was even slower as her vision seemed to flicker. Was this what being sleepy felt like?

Moving as quietly as she could, she sneaked behind the others and into the one bedroom that hadn't been torched by Cherno. The bed was still old and moldy but somehow it looked so comfortable. Giving it little though she simply fell face first onto the sheets, hearing the mattress creak beneath her as she flipped onto her back.

She sighed. It was like floating on clouds. Then her systems started to fade away, her vision darkening as she powered down and entered into a world that offered only peace and rest.

_So this is what sleep feels like_, was her last thought as she drifted away.

* * *

**Well, chapter number five is here.**

**Not a lot of action here, but I just wanted to work on their personalities and interactions a bit outside of combat. Still not completely satisfied with the interactions part. More to that, I used to have problems with the characters in some past things I've written, meaning their personalities were all over the place and I want to avoid that this time. I find it easy to keep Crimson and Striker in character, the tough nerd and the even tougher jerk, a****nd Cherno... well, he's Cherno,**** but with Gipsy I'm finding it kind of hard. So far I've been trying to go for the innocent killer kind of attitude. You know, the thirteen year old girl fawning over stuff that suddenly turns into the Predator when threatened. I find it hard to nail that kind of thing. So please inform me if the characters are getting out of... well, character, and I don't notice.**

**Now to Captiosus in regard to the plasma cannons... I don't think ammo will be a problem, because in the movie it never mentions anything about ammo for them, only that they're "loading" which could also mean "charging." Also, I looked Crimson's IB22 Plasmacaster on the wiki and found this quote: "The only downside to this firepower is the massive amount of energy required, with each shot being slaved to a 6.8 second charge time." This most likely means that they run off of power generated by their cores and not off of any kind of ammo. However, if you find anything contradictory to that let me know. I'm sure it'd be fun to write about.**

**Also, the brief little part about their cores is only based on my assumptions. I couldn't find anything about it on the wiki, how long they will last or anything like that. The only reference to fuel in the movie and wiki was involving Cherno's incinerator turbines and Gipsys' back rockets. So If I get something wrong, please inform me so I can fix it before we move on**

**Yet again, thank you to all who reviewed.**

**DJ out!**

**...**

**Oh right.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pacific Rim or Mass Effect.**


	6. Smuggling What Now?

Gipsy "woke up" the next morning feeling more refreshed then she'd ever felt before, like a haze had been lifted from her mind. It was wonderful.

After a good long stretch she left the bedroom she saw the HS was still on and her three comrades slumped where they sat, visors dark as they slumbered. She giggled at the sight then regretted the fact that she didn't have a sharpy or marker on hand to draw a moustache on Striker's face. A prank she'd taken from one of the memories Raleigh had left her with. Her shoulder's slumped at that. She'd never see him again. She could only hope he'd made it out of the Antiverce when he'd ejected from her head... conn-pod.

Shaking away her fears, she glanced about their new home, noticing the lack of things to do, other then the HS which was showing some commercial about some Asari beauty product.

What channel were they watching yesterday, the one with the cartoon? Oh yeah, channel one thousand nine hundred and twenty three.

Moving as quietly as she could, she crept around the broken couch and knelt beside the projector. The controls were rather simple: A power button, two for volume, two to change the channel, a menu button and a small screen displaying what channel was certainly on and she bulked at the number on it. Channel seven thousand eight hundred and nineteen, the official Citadel News Net.

When she had past the four thousand channel range Cherno was up, watching the various shows flick by at near lightning fast speed.

He let out a rumble, warning her that she might break the button if she continued at that pace. She had reluctantly let up on the speed, sure that they wouldn't get there until tomorrow morning. But she was wrong, she found it just in time for Prothy the Prothean to gush out advice about the right kind of breakfast cereal, whatever good that would do them.

As the main program started up, continuing from the temple last night, Gipsy walked backwards to the couch and sat down. Unfortunately she sat on Striker by accident, the Australian giving off a yelp of surprise as he felt the full weight of the Mark III land in his lap. A grand total of almost two tons, but it was nothing the incredible strength of the Mark V couldn't handle, throwing her off and face first into the wall.

Once the pair had cooled down enough to sit side by side on the couch without any insults did Cherno finally undo all of Gipsy's button pressing and managed to find CNN again.

Much to her surprise, Gipsy found it to be interesting. The rather pretty Asari spokesperson was clear with her words and Gipsy was enthralled as the latest political scandal was laid bare before them. Apparently some human politician had been caught in some night club covered in Asari strippers the night after his strictly human centered political speech. Though he denied it there was no way you could fake camera footage like _that_.

Gipsy doubted they could even find an actor willing to get into the poses shown on screen.

And who knew a man's legs could split that far.

Even Striker got into it, yelling that the man was wanker and other colorful insults. And although Crimson claimed he was interested he seemed to more focused on his omni-tool than anything else. He'd done a lot of browsing last night, no surprise there, and now had enough manuals, books and blogs downloaded to keep him occupied for weeks... or days depending on how fast he read. Seriously, the Jaeger was a black hole when it came to that stuff.

Having nothing better to do they managed to burn away a few hours watching CNN before Gipsy's omni-tool beeped.

At first she didn't notice it. Crimson's had been beeping a lot in the last few hours, but when everyone started staring at her did she finally check what had caused it.

She'd just gotten a message.

A message from Aria.

"Well," Crimson leaned in close from where he sat on an empty box, "read it."

Shrugging, Gipsy shifted to a more comfortable position and began.

**Jeagers... or whatever you call yourselves, I have a job for you.**

**Twenty minutes ago a smuggler came in and offered information in exchange for his life. He was part of a smuggling operation that transported large amounts of Red Sand from Omega to some of the Council worlds. Three months ago they went rogue but still continued their runs on Omega under a different supplier, one that is not me. That's cutting down on profits and no one here likes that. Thanks to our little turncoat here we've learned that they're expected in hanger FB-34 to pick up a new shipment.**

**I want them dead. Not one fucking survivor. But I want their leader, a human named Ellis Qill, alive.**

**Do this right and I may consider keeping you.**

**They arrive at 12:00 noon sharp, don't miss it.**

**Aria**

"Well she's a bucket of laughs, eh?" Striker snorted, ejecting his sting-blades and testing their sharpness.

"Just a smuggling group?" Crimson asked, scratching his 'chin.' "I thought we we're meant for the big jobs, not something simple like this."

"Well, maybe we have different definitions of big," Gipsy shrugged. "Ours is Kaiju big and theirs is... Krogan big, I don't know."

"Either way," Crimson replied, checking his omni-tool, "it is currently 10:21 am, about an hour thirty before they arrive. So, should we leave now and get prepared or just burn more time away?"

"I vote we go now," said Striker, sheathing his blades. "Catch em' by surprise when they show up."

"A sound strategy," Crimson nodded. "Anyone else?"

There was a pause until Gipsy rose from the couch. "Okay, lets go."

"Finally," Striker grinned, visor alight as he jumped for the door. "Things to kill."

"Wait!" Crimson cried, moving to stand between them and the front door. "I wanted to talk about this earlier but I forgot about it till now."

"About what?" Striker grumbled irritably, trying to find a way around Crimson's bulk.

"I was searching on the extranet..."

"Of course you were."

"..._and_ I found no mention of any active plasma technology," Crimson continued, glaring at the Australian.

Looking a tad confused, Gipsy activated one of her plasma cannons and stared at the glowing tip of her transformed appendage before returning her gaze to Crimson. "I don't get it."

"People in this age covet technology," Crimson explained, tapping his own massive plasma cannon/arm. "If we go running about shooting off plasma left and right people could start thinking we're better to use to them in pieces."

"Let them try," Striker growled, crossing his arms.

"You don't even have a plasma gun," Gipsy huffed, shifting her hand back into place.

Crimson's eye darkened. "We might be Jaegers but I doubt we could hold out against the entire station."

"So what do you suggest we do, eh? Run up and punch em' to death?" He paused, considering his own words. "Okay, forget I said anything, that's a brilliant idea! Lets go!"

"Just one moment then," Crimson sighed, walking back to the burnt out bedroom. On his way there the others could hear him muttering, "I'm not going to die again because of stupid decisions. Make the head vulnerable, they said. What could go wrong, they said. Oh no, not this time."

An hour and a half later found the Jaegers trekking though the rusted hallways of Omega once again, this time headed for the hanger district near the top of the massive station. They had taken a skycar as close as they could but that still left them with a few kilometers on foot. Not that they minded it in the least.

Here in the upper districts did people understand that trying to mug the big scary mechs got you a bad case of PTR, the fatal kind. As they got closer to the hangers this was even more apparent. Busy people with schedules to keep did their best to avoid trouble and angering whoever it was the hired them. So they quickly determined that flattening themselves against the wall as the four metal titans stalked by was the easiest way to avoid a swift death.

Gipsy didn't mind that in the slightest, especially when she was busy talking to Crimson over the radio about her new weapon.

"_So this thing fires thirty shots before venting,_" she confirmed, cradling the M8 Avenger assault rifle in her hands. The handle creaked worryingly under her grip.

"_Yes,_" Crimson replied, "_a__nd please try not to break it, I could only find the one._"

Turned out what Gipsy had thought about Crimson's learning curve had been wrong. It only took one night.

One night.

She thought it would take him days at least before he could open that gun locker in the bedroom. Nope. It only took one night of reading the manual and practising on the doors of the other tenants of the apartment complex before he was a master.

After ONE NIGHT!

Still, she was rather happy of his ability to drink up knowledge like a drain in a bath tub, otherwise they wouldn't have guns.

While she resented the fact that she couldn't use her plasma cannons without drawing the attention of, as Crimson called them, "leaches of technological achievement," she was pleased with her new firearm.

The M8 Avenger, just one of the guns that Crimson had found locked away in their bedroom. It was also one of her crowning achievements. Despite Striker being a Mark V and being known as the fastest Jaeger ever, he was still too slow to grab the rifle before Gipsy could. That was something she'd never let him forget.

But the Avenger wasn't the only thing they had uncovered. In the back of the locker they found two Predator heavy pistols which Crimson had snatched up, two Scorpion machine pistols were grabbed by Striker and in the back they found an old but sturdy Katana shotgun that Cherno carefully picked up. While the rifle and pistols were all dwarfed in their grip Cherno's shotgun looked comically small. Being the largest of the group, Cherno's oversized fists were about the size of a Turian helmet, and a Katana shotgun wasn't much bigger than that, meaning the Russian could only hold it with one and barely one eights of a finger around the grip. They also had to cut out the trigger guard to let him fire the thing and once they did it wouldn't fold up into its compact form again. Cherno didn't mind however, saying in his rough dialect of rumbles that it would nice to fight a distance for change, even if it was very, _very_ close range.

Come to think about it, Gipsy's M8 wasn't much better when it came to size. She could barely fit three fingers around her grip and it looked like she was holding a toy. Striker and Crimson had it a bit easier, their pistols somehow able to fit their large hands inside their guards.

Besides that, Gipsy was thrilled that this gun could spit out thirty grains of sand at light speeds at five rounds a second. Whats more, its instructions were easy to remember. Point, pull the trigger, stuff dies, easy. The heating part, not so much. When they had first got their new guns Crimson had explained how they actually worked. She tuned out of most it, sciency mumbo jumbo or stuff like that, but she did managed to catch the over heating part. Apparently these weapons were hybrids of two different systems. The classic system as Crimson called it, a process where the weapon vented after overheating, and the new thermal clip system. According to Crimson the weapon would keep firing until it overheated, where upon you would either wait for it to cool down or press a button and eject the clip. Faster but you burned away your ammo.

After some experimentation, meaning firing endlessly into the wall, she found her rifle took twenty seconds to cool down. Crimson recommended she not fire on full auto but what be the fun in that? She liked the rapid fire power the Avenger possessed and wished her plasma cannons could do the same. That would be a dream come true.

Another thing they found was that their targeting systems helped with their aim. It was strange, she could point the rifle and know where the shots were going to go, much like when she was gunning down those Krogan with her plasma cannons. She hit them dead on without a single miss.

She loved it.

As they started walking down the final stretch to hanger FB-34 a large group of people suddenly exited a door leading to another hanger. The leader, a Turian, took one step out, gawked at them and jumped back, earning shouts and complaints from his fellow crew members. Those complaints were instantly silenced as the Jaegers strolled past, their plating gleaming in the lights set into the ceiling. They shrank back even further as Cherno past, holding his undersized shotgun one handed and growled at them.

This time Gipsy didn't laugh. It was like the few peaceful minutes of walking before the Kaiju burst from the ocean and you were plunged into a fight for your life. They could all feel it.

Striker was silent, adjusting his grip his SMGs. Crimson quickly shifted his left hand into a buzzsaw and back again, testing the speed of shifting while his two right hands held his pistols. Cherno was by far the loudest, mostly because of his old systems, but Gipsy could hear his Incinerator Turbines as they warmed up for a fight.

"Here we are," Crimson said when they at last reached the hanger door. He activated his omni-tool with gesture and waved it over the door lock. "Encrypted, but not the best job."

"How fast?" Striker asked, his usual assy tone gone. All that was left was grim determination.

"A minute, tops," Crimson replied, sticking one of his pistols in his armpit while his free hand went to work on hacking the door. "Now, lets talk this over. Hanger FB-34, designed to hold Frigates of a small size with a crew of about thirty."

"You searched this all up?" asked Striker again.

"In the skycar, yes. Now these people aren't Krogan. They won't charge us down if they can help and will use their guns to shoot us down from a distance. Those Krogan earlier were shooting us with shotguns from a far range so we took minimal damage at most but I'm not keen on finding out what a sniper rifle in the head will do to us. That being said, our best bet is to find whatever cover we can and try to stay out of their line of fire."

"And you got his all from a book?" Gipsy asked incredulously.

"No," Crimson admitted. "The Wei triplets did more in their free time than play basketball. Part time gamers, if I remember correctly. Funny how an FPS can come in handy."

The hologram over the door turned green as Crimson stepped back, hefting his pistols. "So we rush in, find cover and work our way up from there, got it?"

They all nodded.

"Right," Crimson let out a steadying breath from his vents as his left hand hovered over the open door button.

"Ready... GO!" He hit that button and charged forward, the others following suit.

As she ran, Gipsy suddenly realized how slow everything was going. Crimson, in front of her, seemed be moving as slow a snail and even she was wasn't going any faster. But she could see everything because of it. As her rather slow perception of time continued, she was able to take in most, if not all of the details around her.

The hanger itself was you would have expected, a large metal box with one side open to empty space, the air held in only by glowing barriers. In the middle of the hanger was a frigate, held in place by docking clamps hanging down from the ceiling. Stretching around it was a horseshoe shaped platform interspersed with crates of various sizes, the frigate's cargo no doubt. Two docking tubes extended from the platform to the ship's airlocks. Then she saw the dozens of crewmen scattered around. They were moving crates, pushing carts laden with cargo and all of them had a sidearm strapped to their belts.

Apparently the crew had been caught off guard. Most of them just stared at the charging Jaegers in shock, except the few that had been by the door when it opened.

The nearest one, a human, was too late in drawing his pistol as Crimson lashed out with his free left arm, caving in his skull and launching the body back to crash into a crate. Meanwhile his twin arms aimed his pistols and fired with deadly accuracy, catching another in the chest.

Then all hell broke loose.

All the crewmen dropped whatever it was they were doing and grabbed their guns, firing at them from near all angles.

Feeling the shots bounce off her armor like hail, Gipsy ducked behind a crate large enough to hid her as fire peppered the other side. Her armor was tingling where the shots had hit and she could see chips in her paint, even a few tiny dents in her armor. Crimson was right. Best not to test their armor against this much firepower.

A blast from Cherno's shotgun finished off the last hostile near the door as the green titan moved to join her behind cover.

Their position wasn't very good, Gipsy reflected taking a look around.

They were gathered in a rough triangle of crates just outside the door, along with four bodies of unfortunate crewmen who'd been there when they made their entrance.

By now the entire hanger was on the alert. Crewmen numbering at least fifty strong, twenty five on each side, advanced, firing fruitlessly into their cover to keep them pinned.

"Well what do we do now?!" Striker shouted, peeking over a crate he was crouched behind. Sparks jumped from his chest plate as the round bounced off before he ducked down again. "Getting shot at gets annoying after a while!"

"I'm thinking, give me moment!" Crimson shouted back, leaning out and firing. There was a scream as a man fell.

Ignoring them for the moment, Gipsy jumped out of cover, exposing herself completely as she brought her Avenger to bare, firing full auto into the advancing hostiles. Quite surprisingly all fire from in front of her ceased as the crewmen all dived to take cover. A few weren't fast enough. She took cover again as her rifle over heated and the withering cover fire continued.

"They don't have barriers!" Crimson cried, sounding surprised as he leaned out and fired until his pistols overheated.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Striker asked as he rose up, pointed his SMGs and fired. Again, they all ducked and took cover as the rounds sailed over head.

"I'll explain later!" Crimson replied as his pistols beeped in cool down completion. "All you need to know is... Wait! Where's Cherno?!"

"He's right..." Gipsy began, looking beside her only to realize Chenro's hulking form was gone. "Where...?"

"Holy shit! Shoot it shoot it!" The panicked cry drifted to her audio receptors as she heard the incoming fire drift to something else. Over the sound of the firing guns she heard the boom of Cherno's shotgun and a low rumble like that of a volcano.

Peeking around cover she saw Cherno strolling forward at a leisurely pace, shots bouncing off him like rain as he advanced up the left side of the platform. With a growl he fired at a crewmen that got in range, blowing the man away with a spray of blood. Then all fire seemed to shift towards their green companion, desperately trying to bring down the Russian tank.

"Screw this!" Striker bellowed, throwing away his SMGs and leaping over his cover before charging the enemy on the right. They noticed him closing in too late. He leaped in, driving his sting-blades into a man's skull before tossing the body away and dashing off to another. Within a few moments the enemy line was in chaos as Striker danced about, tearing the crewmen apart with his blades. They couldn't shoot him for fear of hitting each other and none could best the Mark V in close quarters.

Shrugging, Crimson abandoned his cover as well, shifting his free arm into it's buzzsaw as he charged forward, firing his pistols all the while.

Meanwhile Cherno was where he was best.

The crewmen had retreated further down the platform, firing fruitlessly into Cherno's armor. Then Cherno started to run, picking up speed until he barrelled into a human. There was a crack as metal met bone, shattering every bone in his body before Cherno finished him off with a lazy shot to the head.

Then Gipsy joined in, Avenger spewing death as she ran forward, coming to stand beside Cherno as together they handed out pain in devastating amounts.

As she gunned down another crewmen, Gipsy decided then and there that she loved this gun. It was fast and it was powerful, tearing into it's targets like soft cheese. And she just loved the full auto, the feeling of it bucking in her hands, pumping out shot after shot was simply glorious.

Needless to say the crew didn't last long. Having two Jaegers within arms reach was bad enough, but Jaegers with guns within arms reach was even worse. In the span of a minute and a half, the population of the hanger had gone from fifty to five. Gipsy cold hear panicked screams coming from the other side of the Frigate but she payed them little mind, her attention was on the one remaining crewmen before her, desperately trying to reload a heatsync into his pistol. Avenger, as had decided to call her rifle, had overheated. So, dropping it, she strutted forward, ejecting her swords from her wrists. The crewmen's eyes widened in terror before she neatly decapitated him.

As the body fell, Cherno let out a happy coo.

"Rightaroo," she said, sheathing her blades. "All to easy." She bent down and picked up Avenger.

"And this thing is pure awesome!"

Cherno nodded, raising his shotgun before rumbling.

"It is not better," Gipsy shot back. "Let's see that fire five shots a second."

Before Cherno could respond, Crimson's voice came over the radio. "_Gipsy, Cherno, whats you__r__ status?_"

"_Umm... we're okay,_" Gipsy replied. "_How are you?_"

"_Just peachy. Someone left the airlock open and we__'re__ clearing the ship._"

"_That's great._" Then she remembered Aria's instructions. "_Oh wait, before you kill anyone else make sure it's not __Qill. Aria wants him alive, remember?_"

"_Yes, I remember. __I__ts Striker I'm worried about._"

"_I can hear you ya' know._" The Australian grumbled.

"_Then ask, first punch later. He could have been anyone of those guys you killed back there._"

"_Right,_" Gipsy huffed, hefting Avenger. "_Hang on, we're coming to help._"

With that the two Jaegers moved towards the docking tube connected to the ship. As they approached the airlock, wondering how they would get in, wonder of wonders, it opened on its own and out ran a rather panicked pair of men.

"Did we lose them?" one asked as he pointed his drawn pistol at the open airlock.

"I think so," the other replied, walking backwards away from the door. "Lets get out off here. Maybe we can..."

His escape was stopped abruptly as his back hit a walking mountain of green metal. He froze as Cherno grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him in place with an iron grip. The first man turned, going as pale as glass as he beheld the two Jaegers.

"Okay," Gipsy said, pointing her rifle at the first one. "Are one of you Ellis Qill by any chance?"

"Its him!" the man screamed, pointing in a panic at the man in Cherno's hold. If he thought that would save him he was wrong, for Gipsy fired once and the man dropped. Cherno glanced down at the corpse before letting off a low growl.

Gipsy winced at his words. "Crap. I hope you're wrong then." She gabbed the barrel of Avenger under their captive's chin.

"Are you Qill or not?"

"Yes! Yes I am!" the man screamed as Cherno tightened his grip.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"I think he's lying," Striker said, walking out of the open airlock with Crimson in tow, their frames adorned with new scratches and scuffs in their paint. There was one worryingly large dent in Striker's chest plate. "Could just be trying to save his own skin."

"_I don't blame him either,_" Crimson said privately over their radio. Then he reached out with his free left hand and grabbed his arm. The man struggled, face contorted in pain as Crimson's hand squeezed like a vice as his other appendages searched for the man's omni-tool. When he found it, Crimson tore it off eagerly.

"It's him all right," the Chinese Jaeger nodded after scanning the device, glaring at Striker. "Pure luck if you ask me."

"Hey!" Striker exclaimed, "I asked them first!"

"Then stabbed them precisely five milliseconds after."

"They didn't give me much choice, okay!"

"After you disarmed them?"

"He had a shotgun!"

"That you crushed, threw at his feet, tripping him up then shattered his knee."

"I was mad, alright!" He pointed at his visor where barely visible liquid trails flowed down under his collar. "Would you let some guy get away with spitting in your face?!"

"No I wouldn't," Gipsy cringed.

"Well, we got him now, so I was justified!" Striker huffed, crossing his arms, which were covered in a fresh layer of blood.

"You didn't know before," Crimson said, shifting his gaze to their captive. "So we got him alive, now who's going to carry him?"

They all stared at him.

"Why would we want to carry this little shit?" Striker asked.

"Fine. Drag him, carry him, let him walk I don't care, but someone has to make sure he doesn't run away."

"Uh," Qill weakly raised his hand. "Can I just follow you on my own? I'll be good, I swear."

"Be quiet. You don't have say in this," Crimson said, making the man squirm as the Jaeger's single eye glared at him.

Then Striker pointed at their resident Russian."I vote Cherno. He's doing a mighty fine job of it already."

They all looked to their green companion, who rumbled deep in his frame.

"Fair enough," Crimson shrugged. "Let's go."

-LineBreak-

"I'm... impressed."

Aria scowled as she stalked about, glaring down at the shaking form of Qill who was trapped by Cherno's heavy foot in his chest. It was a wonder really how the Russian kept him pinned without killing him.

"I lost four platoons and three month trying to bring this fucker down," Aria continued, "and here you do it in under four hours."

Gipsy said nothing, Avenger still held tightly in her grasp, letting her rant as Crimson had suggested. It suddenly occurred to her that Afterlife was silent. The loud, blaring music from before was gone leaving an odd silence in it's wake.

As it was, Aria had deemed them worthy enough to step down from her balcony and meet them at the bar where Cherno had unceremoniously dropped their captive. People all around looked on in morbid interest, but Gipsy was kind of happy to see that they, the Jaegers, commanded most of the attention. It felt good to know that a powerful reputation could scare off trouble. Aria had built hers up over time. They did it in two days. Both from the Blood Pack they'd demolished day one and now this job on day two. That, and being giant mechs that could kill anything in their path.

Apparently Qill had his hands in a lot of dough and had a lot of investors who were waiting for their cut. From just doing this they'd spread their name across the station far faster than a long trail of death and destruction. People had lost credits, men and drugs and it was all because of the Jaegers.

She rather liked the idea.

Scowling, Aria motioned to Cherno. "Let him up."

Growling, Cherno removed his foot and Qill crawled to his feet only to be grabbed by two of Aria's guards.

"Did you think you could get away with this?" she snarled, leaning on so she was face to face with the shaking man. Before he could say anything she gave him a dismissive wave and said to her guards, "throw him out the airlock."

The man's eyes widened in panic as the guards dragged him away. When he was finally out the door the music resumed, a pulsing beat that seemed to resonate in her core. The observers went back to their drinks or watched as Aria stood in front of the four metal titans.

"So," she said, crossing her arms and roving her eyes or their scratched up armor. "You are full of surprises. First Krogan now a fully maned frigate..."

She nodded, reluctantly. "Good job. You just killed at least half a dozen problems for this week."

"_Don't say anything,_" Crimson said over the radio. "_Just nod. Striker, don't move, __your bound to mess something up__._"

"_Shut up._"

Taking his advice, Gipsy nodded, wondering at Crimsons sudden tactfulness around Aria.

"So what do you want?" the Asari asked. "I believe some compensation is in order."

"_And this is where I come in,_" Crimson murmured, switching off his radio and addressed her directly. As Aria lead him away to her balcony the three remaining again found themselves sitting in the same booth as before.

While Gipsy thought she should feel rejected that Crimson had taken her place going to speak to Aria she couldn't deny that he was the best Jaeger for it. When it came to compensation, as Aria said, Crimson was best to arrange it. While she could read a simple list he could give her, Crimson knew the list by heart and even things in the next list to come.

She sighed through her vents, trying to dispel the heat that she could feel building inside her. It was like yesterday, only less pronounced. So the longer they stayed out the more their systems warmed up faster than their coolant systems could handle. Still, it wasn't that bad, just felt like she had one of those heat packs Raleigh or Yancy would use when they had a headache and she wasn't as tired as she was last night to warrant a... nap? Is that what they called them?

Yep.

"I want something bigger."

She looked up at Striker. He was seated across from her in the circular booth. Resting on the table in front of him were the two SMGs he'd thrown away in the firefight. One of them was crushed, having been found by Cherno when he stepped on it.

Cherno let out a questioning groan.

"I want something bigger," he repeated irritably, picking up the remaining SMG. Gipsy idly noticed that everyone in the area tensed as the Jaeger picked up the weapon. "I mean, these things are pure crap. I can't hit anything with em'."

Cherno rumbled again.

"Close range? That's what these are for." He raised a hand and ejected his sting-blades. This time Gipsy saw people jump and back away.

"Well," Gipsy said, fingering Avenger where it rested on the table, "what kind of weapon would you want?"

"Hmm," Striker scratched his chin. "I know it'll sound strange and all but... I think I want something slower."

The two others stared at him, then Gipsy started laughing. "You? Slower?"

"I know right? I just can't aim right with these."

Cherno rumbled, giving his Katana resting on the table an affectionate pat.

"Well of course you shoot them point blank. I want something a little more... fancy."

"This is fancy," Gipsy said, motioning to Avenger.

Striker huffed. "There's nothing fancy about _that_. From what I heard you just sprayed and prayed. No, I'm talking about something that takes skill. A sniper rifle."

"What's this about a sniper rifle?"

They all looked up as Crimson pulled up at the booth and sat down. They were probably lucky these booths were made to hold Krogan otherwise they'd be having a hard time. As it was, Gipsy's knees where still touching the bottom of the table and Cherno's were pushing it up, causing it to tilt to the side.

"Striker wants one," Gipsy replied, catching Avenger before it slid off the sloped surface.

Crimson hummed, resting his own pistols on the table as he thought. "Well... I did see one in the back of that locker at home. A Mantis if I remember correctly. BUT..." he added hastily as Striker rose from the booth, "there are important things we need to talk about. For starters, have any of you heard of the Rising Maws?"

* * *

**Chapter 6 is here, right on time.**

**Something different than last chapter, just some mindless action and their new weapons on Omega. And to Captiosus again, this is not me throwing your argument out the window. I actually had this mostly pre-writen before I got your review. Their will be problems with their plasma weapons later and with the "leaches of technological achievement." Boy. that's gonna be fun to write about. SB agents, meet angry Jaegers.**

**Now on to a more disheartening note.**

**Doubtless many of you are now approaching the end of the school year. Unfortunately I am not immune to this. Between school work and regular work I am finding it very hard to write. So I'm sorry to say that Team Jaeger will have to be put on hold until one of those two things vanishes and I can get back up to speed.**

**The story is not dead, it's the only thing keeping me from dying of boredom. I'm be back within a month or so, maybe with faster updates. S don't worry I'll be back.**

**DJ out!**

**Oh right, I don't own pacific rim or mass effect.**


	7. The Rising Maw Part 1

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

A minute later a low rumble.

"No."

Thirty seconds.

"Are we there yet?"

"We're not going to get there any faster if you keep on asking me," Crimson groaned. "Honestly, how many times have you three asked? I counted over fifty in the past thirty minutes!"

Cherno groaned loudly.

"Yes you did, and no we're not."

The giant shrugged his shoulders, following after Crimson as he led them deeper into the bowels of Omega.

"For once I agree with the walking pickle," Striker grumbled, ignoring the threatening growl from the Russian as he followed behind them. "We're walking in fucking circles."

"No, I think they all just look the same," Gipsy pipped up from beside Striker.

"Thank you," Crimson sighed.

"Or wait. Have we passed _that_ one before?"

"Yep," Striker threw up his arms in exasperation. "I told you, fucking circles."

Air hissed from his vents as Crimson huffed, before returning his attention to his omni-tool.

It had been three days since they had decimated Qill and his operation, three days that they'd been copped up with nothing to do. When Crimson had last talked with Aria she'd giving instructions for them to make contact with one of her operatives about their next operation. She said she'd given him their contact information so all they had to do was wait for his instructions.

They had gotten a message before they left Afterlife, telling them to keep a low profile and lie low for a few days. He'd also sent them information about their new job, which they had filled the next few days going over. Or, at least, Crimson had spent time going over it.

The details were sketchy, but from what he had found a new merc group had popped up on Omega; the self proclaimed Rising Maws. Very little was known about them, expect that they were rumored to be an all Krogan extremist group that appeared little more then six months ago. Though Crimson had scanned the message up and down for more info he couldn't find anything else, and it frustrated him to no end.

They had past the days in relative boredom, occasionally wandering into the markets to pick up something Crimson thought they would need. The only one who didn't seem bored was Striker, and he was busy trying out the new sniper rifle Crimson had found in the locker. He was a pretty good shot too. Granted, the only thing they had for a target was a bulls-eye scratched into the far wall, but it wasn't long before he was nailing it dead center from across the room.

They had just been in the middle of watching some story on CNN when their contact sent them a short message and a location: "Come ASAP."

They had jumped at the prospect of finally having something to do and rushed out the door. When they were three quarters of the way there they realized that Gipsy was the only one that had remembered to grab her new gun on the way out. Striker had groused that he didn't get to try out his new toy for real, but he soon shut up about it. They had debated about turning back and picking them up, but decided against it. They were almost there, and it wasn't like they were defenceless without guns. So they had continued on, deep into the bowels of Omega beneath Afterlife to a neighborhood of near identical warehouses.

It was here that they were having the most trouble. The buildings all looked the same, save for the rusted address plates beside their doors. Naturally, being rusted, it was hard to tell what the number was, coupled with the dozens of twists and turns they made greatly supported Striker's theory about going in circles. But then again, he was just too lazy to actually try and read the rusted letters. So contrary to the Australian's belief, Crimson had them on the right track to the right place, a warehouse on the outskirts of the zone. But it was taking long enough that the other two were starting to believe the same thing. Crimson wanted to argue that they had only passed through the market once and the fact that they hadn't seen it again would be contradictory to the circle thing. But they were close anyway, so he thought it best not to argue.

Eye narrowing in concentration, he glared at the address on another warehouse, comparing it to the one on his omni-tool. They were close, only a few digits off this time.

Another minute went by before the eventual question popped up again, courtesy of Cherno's rumbles.

"Yes," Crimson said, a small amount of relief seeping into his voice as he stopped before an identical warehouse with a single door in the center. "We're here."

"Are you sure?" Gipsy asked. "They all look the same."

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Positive?"

"Yes."

"_Absolutely_ positive?"

He looked over his shoulder and glared at her. "_Yes_. I have the right one, so will you please stop that?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, it's just... are you su-"

"Yes!"

"Okay."

Taking a step back, Cherno groaned and pointed at the door.

Crimson shrugged. "Well obviously he'd, or whoever it is would be expecting us. He did call us here after all."

Then, without giving the others time to second guess him, he stepped up to the door and knocked. They heard the sound reverberate inside, but nothing happened.

"Ya' still sure it's the right one?" Striker grumbled.

"How many times do I have to tell you; YES IT-"

The door opened quite suddenly, revealing a familiar face. Kriln, the Turian who had first reported them to Aria stood in the doorway. He was still wearing his red and black armor from when they last met and his white colonial markings seemed to glow in Omega's reddish light. He raised a pistol clenched in his hand before he saw it was the Jaegers.

"Oh," he said, quickly lowering the weapon. "You should have sent word you were on the way."

"You're our contact?" Crimson asked.

"Yeah," the Turian sighed, holstering his pistol and leaning against the wall. "Let me tell you, I was surprised as hell when I found out we were getting you." He shook his head. "But I suppose you have questions, right?"

"Correct," Crimson nodded.

"Then come inside," he stood aside to let them pass. "And can we try to keep it short, we're on a bit of a time table here."

As the door shut behind them, the Jaegers found themselves in a long hallway with doors on either side. Light fixtures cast down their dull radiance from above, shining off their plating as Kriln led them deeper into the complex.

"You don't really seem surprised to see us again," Crimson noted as he glanced at the Turian.

Kriln snorted. "When you're in the Turian navy you can see some strange things. Sentient mechs is kind of scraping the bottom of the barrel, what with the Geth and all. But really, saw you once, got over your novelty and moved on."

"So you're not scared of us?" Gipsy asked.

"No," he replied looking over his shoulder. "We're just on the same side now."

"Oh," she murmured, not quite understanding.

"So what are we doing here," Crimson asked and Cherno gave an agreeing rumble.

"In a moment," Kriln replied, stopping at the last door on the right. It opened with a quiet hiss, letting them into a large, dim room. In the middle was a table with a holographic projector set in it's surface, projecting the image of a building up into the air. There were three people gathered around, examining the floating display: A rather tall Salarian, an Asari with dark skin and a Quarian with black enviro-suit and a red visor. They all looked up as the door opened, first noticing Kriln, then the four metal giants behind him.

The reaction was instantaneous.

The Quarian shouted something in his native tongue the translator didn't catch and drew his side arm faster then the eye could blink, aiming squarely at Crimson's chest.

"What the fuck are they and what are they doing here!?" he screamed, shifting his aim between the four Jaegers.

"Jrel, calm down!" Kriln ordered, stepping in front and blocking his shot.

"Answer the damn question!" Jrel shouted back.

"They're our back-up, now put the gun down!"

"Bullshit!"

Before the Turian could reply, Crimson softly pushed him aside and stood before the aggravated Quarian, arms hanging at his side, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

"Look," he said calmly, "I don't know what quarrel you have with us, but..."

"It speaks!?" Jrel interrupted sounding horrified and let loose a single shot from his pistol. The round bounced off Crimson's chest and into the ceiling, leaving only a slight scratch in the red metal. Before he could fire again the Asari tackled him from the side, knocking him off his feet and to the ground. The pistol was wrenched out of his hands in seconds, his face pressed to the floor even faster and his hands wrenched behind his back in the Asari's iron grip. The Salarian only looked on in morbid interest as the Asari tossed the pistol to Kriln, who caught it one handed.

"Thank you, Aniya," Kriln sighed, setting the weapon on the table.

The Asari nodded, then pressed down harder on her captive as he bucked beneath her, swearing up a storm.

"Jrel," Kriln said sternly, kneeling beside his head. "Whatever issues you have, bury them. They're with us now, and if you piss them off I'm not risking my life to save yours again. Got it?"

"_Well they're a happy bunch_," Crimson murmured over the radio as Jrel muttered something under his breath. "_And Striker, put those away, __you__'ll only make things worse._"

Striker grunted, but reluctantly sheathed his sting blades.

"Well you're a first."

The four Jaegers looked over the Salarian. He was leaning against the table, a smile playing across his thin face as his eyes darted over their frames.

"I beg your pardon?" Crimson asked.

"You're the first of your make I've ever seen before," the Salarian elaborated. "I have a little experience with almost every mech out there, some Geth platforms included, and none are quite like you." His smile grew larger, and it started to creep Crimson out. "I mean, you are a fully functional AI. Self aware, sentient. Such a thing has never been seen before."

"I'll... take that as a compliment,"

"It is," the Salarian replied, pushing off the table and held out his hand. "Phil, ex-STG extraordinaire."

After a moment's hesitation, Crimson reached out and shook it. "Crimson Typhoon... Jaeger."

"_Jaeger_," Phil repeated, fascinated. "Is that your model? A specific kind..."

"It's what we are," Crimson interrupted tightly. "On a side note though, how did a Salarian like you end up with a name like Phil?"

"Ah, old name was too hot. I was being hunted everywhere I went, so I needed a one. Something simple and easy to mistake for being for another species. Phil fit the criteria perfectly."

"Okay," Kriln spoke up, cutting off their conversation as he pushed himself off the ground while pulling a disgruntled Jrel with him. "We're in business." He stepped up to the table and pressed a few buttons on the projector. The image changed to that of a Krogan in grey armor, holding aloft a large shotgun in a ready fashion.

At Kriln's insistence, they all gathered around, Jrel making a point to stand as far away from the Jaegers as possible.

"Right, we got a job to do so let's get started." Kriln said, gesturing towards the Jaegers. "But first, what did Aria tell you about what we're doing here?"

"Jack shit," Striker snorted, crossing his arms.

"Figures. But anyway, welcome officially to the GI-7, Aria's own private spy network on Omega."

"GI-7?" Crimson queried.

"Gang Intelligence seventh branch," Phil pipped up. "What we do is..."

"Blah blah blah," Striker cut him off. "Talking bores me. Show me something to kill."

"No one gave you permission to speak, tinny," Jrel growled.

"No one gave you permission to breath my air, bucket head," Striker shot back.

"You don't need to breath you fucking moron."

"He does have point," Gipsy said, casting a cheeky smile at the Australian who glared at her.

"Shut up."

They all jumped as Kriln slammed an armored fist on the table with a bang. "_All_ of you shut up!" He pointed at the Quarian.

"Jrel, keep your mouth shut. You..." he pointed at Striker and paused, trying to think of something that wouldn't have him cut into pieces. "...just wait, we're getting to that. Phil, continue."

"Ah," the Salarian gathered his thoughts for a moment before going on. "Yes. As I was saying, for you four who don't know yet, the GI groups are an undercover organization employed under Aria to keep tabs on all the major mercenary groups and gangs on Omega."

"Undercover. So you spy on them?" Gipsy asked.

"Basically," Phil chirped.

"And this seventh branch is the newest, I take it?" Crimson asked.

"Again correct."

"So why are we here? We're hardly inconspicuous."

"Because you can fight Krogan and win," Kriln replied. "The Rising Maws are credited with being the only group on Omega who's numbers are entirely comprised of Krogan. Put two and two together, it's easy."

"I see," Crimson noted. "But again, espionage? We're not the best for it." He glanced back at Striker. "Well, some of us anyway."

"It's not quite espionage, not for us anyway," Kriln said. "You see, since I first contacted you three days ago we've been running reconnaissance on the Maws. It's not much, but we have a rough estimate of their troops in the lower levels, numbering about eight _thousand._"

"That's a lot of Krogan," Crimson agreed.

"Damn right, and those are only the ones we know about. But the numbers aren't the only problem, that is." He pointed at the floating holographic Krogan. "See what it's wearing? That's Heavy Crisis armor Mark X, made by Jormangund Technology. Very expensive and very hard to come by. From our recon we could see that at least eighty percent of them each had a set. That takes serious cash. Money they shouldn't have."

He looked about to go on when he was interrupted by a loud rumble from Cherno.

"He's asking what this is all about," Crimson translated, crossing his arms. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wondering the same."

"It's hard to get good equipment on Omega," Phil said. "More so if your on the lower levels. With them being contested territory most of the time it's hard to bring in a shipment of goods and not have it robbed on the spot. Needless to say the hangers on the upper levels are more used. Being under Aria's control, it's a tad safer, but you have to pay a premium to use them, usually one tenth of the total cost of the shipment you're transporting. As Crisis armor is expensive, the Maws would have had to pay millions on the premium alone before even worry about the cost to land the shipment."

"So? Couldn't they just have a hanger lower down?"

"That's what we thought too, until we found a very interesting piece of information. The smuggler you took out earlier, Qill, he was one of their suppliers. After you annihilated his crew our people salvaged his vessel and found his personal logs. Along with his current offences you might say he was found guilty of smuggling _billions_ of credits worth of equipment past Aria's premium costs. She doesn't like it when that happens."

"In her exact words; 'burn the fuckers and get my fucking money back,'" Kriln cut in. "In fact, it's thanks to you that the GI-7 was formed. The Rising Maws might not be on the top of the shit list, but when Aria get's pissed someone has to pay. With Qill gone that falls to the Maws, who, from what Qill was shipping them, could have a lot more money then we originally thought. Our job now is to find out how they got it and how they got it down to the lower levels without anyone noticing."

"That's all we're doing?" Striker asked.

"Oh no," Kriln grinned. "Then comes the fun part. We find out were the money is coming from and cut the flow. Essentially, it's cutting their feet out from under them. You can't run a merc-band that big without a steady flow, and something has to break inside eventually. Then we get assigned a task force to systematically wipe them out. See, when we dug a little deeper into the Maws activity we found out they were in deeper shit then we thought. They're slowly expanding their territory in the lower levels, wiping out the small fry and even making trouble for the big boys too; the Blue Suns and Eclipse. The agents from the GI-1 and 2 are reporting that the two groups had called for a cease-fire down there until the little Maw problem has been dwelt with. Problem is, they're losing. The Maws are pushing for more ground each week and they're gaining all the time. To top it off are their troops. I know you've seen the Blood Pack Krogan before: They're stupid. Not these ones. No, the Rising Maws are trained, heavily armed and are a slow but growing threat. Pretty soon they might be big enough to cause Aria trouble, then it could become a war for the station, and that's the last thing this shithole needs.

"So... this is all for the safety of Omega?" Crimson asked uncertainly.

Kriln scoffed. "I'm not that noble. I pays well, _very_ well, and it keeps me out of the wrong hands. No, this is just a job we do for our own reasons."

"I see. And what's our role on all this?"

"Well, to put it simply, you're our muscle. We're going to be poking around in places the Maws probably don't want us. From what we've seen, we wouldn't last very long against two, that's how well trained they are, not to mention the firepower a single trooper carries. But with you four here, we stand a chance. That answer your question?"

"Kind of."

"Good, cause whatever you have next will have to wait, we have work to do." He activated his omni-tool and tapped a few buttons. The hologram changed once again to the building from before. "This is the first Rising Maw outpost to be seen in the upper levels. So far security here had been at a minimum to avoid suspicion, but yesterday Phil intercepted one of their transmissions, asking if the shipment from Qill had passed through yet. It's safe to bet that this is where the shipments come before heading down to the lower levels. I'm also willing to bet they keep records of everything that passes through, along with clues about how they transport it. We hit them hard and fast, get whatever data they have and get out before they can call for reinforcements. Phil, you still got that jammer?"

The Salarian's face seemed to glow as he brought it up. "Oh yes."

"Activate it on when we engage and keep em' from calling for help."

"Got it."

"Good. Jrel?"

The Quarian glanced over at him and grunted, "what?"

"You still got that special ordinance you cooked up?"

"Yeah," he replied, glared at the Jaegers. "Been saving it for something special."

"Right, pull it out, we're gonna give our new friends as much of an advantage as possible."

"Advantage?" Gipsy asked from behind the other three, hands clutching her Avenger assault rifle.

"Yeah," Kriln nodded. "I saw you when you took out those Blood Pack. They were trying to snipe you with shotguns, shitty ones I should add. Really says a lot for their intelligence level. But these guys will be using top of the line equipment, things that could take chunks out of a YMIR heavy mech. I don't want to take the chance that they could shred you to pieces before you got into range."

"Hmm..." Crimson muttered, nodded his head in agreement. "Thank you for your concern,"

Kriln grunted. "Your welcome, and I don't think I need to tell you your part. Jrel will take out their guns then you run in and fuck the bastards."

"Sounds like fun," Striker smirked, crossing his arms.

"Glad we're all on the same page then," Kriln replied before turning to the Asari. "Aniya; over-watch. Nothing gets by you, clear?"

She nodded silently.

"Alright," Kriln announced, clapping his hands together. "Gather your gear, we leave in five minutes."

With that, the four aliens trooped out, sliding around the Jaegers on their way to the door, Jrel giving them a particularly nasty look before the door closed behind them, leaving the machines alone.

"Well, this could be interesting," Crimson sighed as they gathered in a rough circle.

Cherno rumbled, making a fist with one hand and slamming it into his open palm.

"I agree," Crimson replied. "But at the same time what else are we suppose to do? It seems that the freedom of life has it's drawbacks. We're, in a sense, free. No PPDC, no Kaiju to fight, what are we suppose to with it?"

"First world problems," Striker chuckled.

"Yeah," Crimson nodded after a moment of thought, a small grin lighting of his visor. "First world problems. New life, what do we do?"

Cherno groaned, shrugging his massive shoulders.

"Play along? What a coincidence, I was thinking the same thing."

A small creaking sound interrupted them and they looked over to Gipsy. She was looking down, visor dark and in deep thought as her hands gripped her rifle hard enough to warp the metal.

"Ah, Gipsy?" Crimson asked and she jumped in surprise. "Are you all right?"

"Ah, yeah," she replied hastily. "Just... got a feeling."

"A feeling?" Striker scoffed.

"Yeah," she said, mind clearly somewhere else. "It's just..."

"Just..." Crimson prompted.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "Just thought of something is all and it... took me back. Don't really want to talk about it."

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, not meant to harm, as Cherno gave a comforting squeeze.

"Thanks big guy," she said, shrugging it off. "I'm fine now."

Before they could go on the door opened again and Kriln stuck his head in. "We're moving out, come on."

Giving each other one last look, the Jaegers trooped out and followed Kriln to the door. Their new alien allies were gathered on the threshold, strapping on a wide array of personalized equipment. As they watched, Phil heaved a large backpack of sorts off the floor and onto his back. It settled into special latches in his armor, holding it in place as the Salarian pulled the holding straps tight around his thin chest. Meanwhile the Asari, Aniya, was in the process of folding up one of the biggest sniper rifles they'd ever seen. Unlike the Jaeger's situation, the rifle seemed to dwarf her entirely, taking up most of the space on her back, even in it's folded up form.

"_Okay, forget the Mantis, I want one of those!_" Striker spoke up eagerly, visor glowing in a savage grin.

As for Jrel... well, it was only because of his earlier aggression to them that Crimson started to worry about the choice of his loadout. Two grenade launchers, one being the standard M-100 variant strapped to his back, the other being a strange combination between a launcher and an old style, break-action shotgun. As Crimson watched, the Quarian took a grenade from a pouch strapped around his leg, slid it into the open action and snapped it shut with a flourish. As if sensing him, Jrel turned and gave him a cold glare, fingers tightening around the trigger.

For a moment, Crimson was worried that he would actually fire on them again. But just then Kriln opened the front door and wordlessly led them out into the street beyond.

-Linebreak-

The metal of Avenger continued to warp under her grip, but Gipsy couldn't have cared less at the moment.

Ever since they first entered the warehouse, a grim sense of foreboding had gripped her. It squeezed her core between it's cold fingers, forcing her to think back to the last time it had her in it's grasp.

Yancy.

She remembered all to clearly the last time she had that feeling. As her two pilots had engaged the drift and her nuclear core warmed in preparation, it had been there. Despite the confidence she could feel practically gushing from the Becket boys, the cold fingers of dread had her in it's grasp. Something bad was going to happen, she could feel it.

And she'd been right.

That damned Kaiju had killed Yancy, tore him from her conn-pod and then proceeded to try and tear her to pieces. Just thinking about it brought back the pain she felt as Knifehead stabbed deep into her shoulder. She shivered, feeling her joint breaking under the assault.

There was a human saying she heard somewhere, either from her pilots or somewhere else she didn't know, but it said to "trust her gut." Given that she didn't have a gut in the traditional sense, she decided to trust the tiny voice in the back of her head that kept on repeating; "something's going to happen."

She took a steadying breath through her vents. The before-battle calm was beginning to settle upon them. Her hands tightened around Avenger, not the worrying grip of dread, but the calm sense of readiness and assurance. It slowly drowned out the feelings from before, pushing it to the back of her mind as a more confident mindset took control. She knew what she had to do.

Behind her, she could hear the others preparing in their own way. The slight buzz of Crimson's saws as he set them to idle, the gushing sound as Cherno's systems dumped fuel into his incinerator turbines, warming up the scorching fluid. The familiar sounds helped to dispel the cold fingers gripping her core, but a small measure of dread remained.

_Something_ bad was going to happen, she knew it.

They had left the neighbourhood of warehouses far behind and now Kriln was leading them through a run down section of apartments, interspersed with empty shops and store fronts. Come to think of it, since they had entered this area they hadn't seen a single soul. The place was deserted, silent, and it put them all on edge.

"Aniya," Kriln's voice cut through the quiet, making Gipsy jerk out of her revelry. "Break off here. Keep em' off us."

The Asari nodded, before turning and heading into an alleyway. Though Gipsy wanted to see where she was going, she cast it off as Kriln led them down a ramp, drawing a standard M-15 Vindicator from his back as he did so.

The ramp levelled off shortly, opening up onto another near identical street. The only difference was that at the far end was, what could only be described as a mini-fortress. Pieces of debris had been piled into barricades as tall as her waist, in stark contrast to the street they were walking along. It was disturbingly clean of anything that might serve as cover, turning the whole area into a killzone for however maned the barricades. However, unlike the rest of the neighbourhood, they were far from deserted.

Five Krogan stood behind the barricades, each covered from head to toe in a grey set of heavy armor and carrying weapons that made her Avenger look like a joke. Powerful shotguns, a sniper rifle of unknown make and a heavy machine gun in the hands of the apparent sargent.

"Jammer activated," Phil announced silently, tapping a few buttons on his omni-tool. The pack on his back started emitting a low hum that steadily grew until her audios seemed to ring with it.

The effect was immediate. The Krogan all started tapping their helmets where their ears were, trying to figure out where all the static was coming from. Then the sargent turned and spotted them.

Gipsy felt a trill of anticipation as the yellow eye holes drilled into her, sizing her up. Then the sargent raised a hand, preforming a well organized series of hand signals before pointing at them. His underlings instantly obeyed, running to the barricades and crouching, sticking their weapons over in preparation to fire.

Before they could, however, Jrel raised his modified launcher and pulled the trigger. There was a loud thump, and from the barrel flew a glowing orange sphere that arched over the barricade and landed at the sargent's feet. But instead of an explosion, there came a sound like breaking glass and a shock wave of energy spread outward. When it touched a Krogan their weapons sparked and spat, smoke pouring out of the ejection chambers as the mechanisms inside jammed and fused together. But apparently it wasn't the effect Jrel was hoping for.

"Shit," the Quarian swore, loading up another shot as the Krogan fiddled with their weapons. "Their barriers didn't take the hit."

"Doesn't matter, stick to the plan" Kriln replied, shoving him to the side. "Jaegers go!"

"Finally!" Striker grinned, drawing his sting-blades and charging forward, his advanced frame propelling him forward with speeds Cherno could only dream of. The others quickly followed, activating the weapons they naturally possessed.

The Krogan quickly realized their guns were useless and tossed them to the side, drawing long knives from hidden sheaths in their armor. Foregoing their past orders, the group bunched together behind the barricade, forming a solid mass of armor.

They were half way there when Gipsy realized she still had Avenger in her hands. Making a quick decision, she raised the rifle and the roar of the automatic rifle filled her audios as the shots streaked past Striker, hitting the sargent in the center of the group. To her shock, the rounds simply bounced off a glowing barrier that appeared around the brute. He didn't even flinch.

Avenger overheated mere seconds before Striker made contact, leaping over the barricade and swinging his blades. The sargent took the hit, stepping forward and allowing the superheated blade to cut into his throat. In his last dying moments, as Striker's full weight collided with him, the Krogan wrapped his arms around the Jaeger's broad chest, dragging him the ground with him.

Striker landed on the brute's body with a grunt, cursing as blood splattered from the open wound onto his visor. As he tried to get up another Krogan jumped on his back, trying to drive his knife through the armor between his wings. The other three Krogan tried to form a perimeter around the struggling pair as the remaining Jaegers charged over the barricade, or, in Cherno's case; through it.

Throwing Avenger to the side, Gipsy reared back her arm and lashed out at the nearest brute. She had swung too high however and the Krogan ducked under her arm with an unnatural ease and slashed at her mid-section. The blade slid across her smooth plating with a shower of sparks, leaving a dull scratch on the polished metal.

Swinging her other arm around, she caught him on the side of the head, jerking it to the side. As he tried to recover, her sword ejected from her wrist and she jammed it into his chest, dragging through it's thick ribcage to destroy both the hearts Crimson had told them Krogan processed.

There was an angry yell as Striker finally managed to dislodge the Krogan from his back, tossing the brute to the ground. Before it could recover the Jaeger was on him, stabbing both his sting-blades into it's skull. Beside him Crimson lashed out with an armored foot and was rewarded by the crack of bone and armor. The Krogan he'd been fighting tumbled to the ground, chest plate caved almost a full eight inches around the point of impact. He wheezed pathetically before Crimson ended his suffering with a precise slash of his saws.

Cherno... well, Cherno was having trouble. Being the slowest among them and one of the slowest Jaegers in general was giving the Krogan a small advantage over the green titan. He was dancing with him. Whenever Cherno would throw a punch the Krogan would leap out of the way with an unnatural speed and slash with his knife. It wasn't hurting the Russian, but the new scratches along his arms bore testament to how long this had been going on.

Then the Krogan made a mistake. As Cherno punched, he leaned back like stalk of grass and the fist stopped a mere inch from his helmet. Before he could get away the spring loaded mechanisms in the Russian's arm fired, launching the fist the remaining distance into it's face. Compared to Cherno's fist the helmet might as well have been cardboard, punching through it and breaking through the skull with ease.

The Russian giant rumbled happily as his fist reset, looking at his fresh kill that now lay on the ground, a nice deep crater in the center of his helmet.

"Ow," Striker groaned, rubbing his chest plate. "I think I broke something." He reached down and picked up the ruined frame of a shotgun. The middle was almost crushed in half from where the Jaeger had landed on it.

"Never mind, I'm good," he said, tossing the wreak away.

As they regrouped, Kriln and the rest ran past, heading for the door to the outpost. They stacked up on either side with military precision, running a final check of their weapons before Phil slapped the door panel with his omni-tool. It sparked for a brief moment before opening and Jrel tossed a grenade into the dark hallway beyond. There was a pause then a loud boom as smoke billowed out. They were in even before it had settled, weapons raised and ready.

For thirty seconds nothing happened. Then Kriln stepped out, rifle hanging by his side.

"The place is empty," he said as the Jaegers gathered around.

"Is that bad?" Gipsy asked, swiping her sword through the air to clean it of blood.

"Probably," the Turian admitted, shifting his Vindicator to a more ready position. "For now, we guard the area. Phil found a working terminal and he and Jrel are working to crack it. Should be done in a minute."

With that he went quiet, scanning up and down the streets. They were deserted, not even bodies were present. Seemed like the Maws ruled their turf with an iron fist and trigger happy fingers.

As Crimson twisted Striker around to examine the scratches on his back with Cherno holding the Australian still, Gipsy walked away, intending to retrieve Avenger from where she'd thrown it. She stopped, however, when her armored foot landed beside the weapon that the Krogan sargent had thrown down: A modified M-76 Revenent.

Her visor locked onto the weapon, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It was big, painted a dull gun-metal grey with an extended stock for better stability.

Almost reverently, she reached down and picked it up, almost squealing with delight when she found the grip fit her hand perfectly. It seemed like the weapons was _made_ for her, like a shoe for a foot or a fist for a face.

She walked away, cradling her new toy in her arms, Avenger quite forgotten as her mind came up with more ridiculous similes. Crimson was just finishing his examination as Jrel and Phil walked out of the outpost, still letting out small tappers of smoke from the door.

"Did you find anything?" Kriln asked.

Phil smiled and raised his omni-tool. "Highly organized for Krogan, easy to find and rip everything. Encryption, however, is very sophisticated. Will need time to decode it."

"Good," Kriln nodded. "Split up, take different routes back to base to throw off any pursuit."

Giving a nod of acknowledgement the two aliens ran, heading to different ramps leading upwards. The Jaegers looked on, wondering if they should follow suit before Kriln motioned to them, he himself heading for the same way they came. Giving each other mental shrugs, they fell into step behind him, Gipsy clutching her new gun like a new born child.

As her foot touched the ramp Gipsy froze. With the battle over, the pangs of dread had returned, clenching her core so tight it was almost painful. She looked back over her shoulder to the street. Nothing. But she could feel it, the feeling that she was being watched, hunted. Not very pleasant for a Jaeger. But there was nothing there. Nothing she could see, anyway.

Reluctantly, she turned away and followed the others up the ramp. Then, in the corner of her visor, just for an instant, she thought she saw a slight shimmer in air.

-Linebreak-

At last they were gone.

The Krogan scowled, relaxing his fingers around his shotgun as he watched the last mech trot after the others. His blood boiled in his veins after watching them kill five of his brothers, but he held it back. The blood rage was not a weapon, only a liability. That's what they had been taught and that's what made their own kind so weak.

"This is Black-223, 224 to do copy?" he growled into his helmet's comms.

"_I read you,_" came the reply.

"Targets are approaching your position. Trail them and we'll form up outside their rally point."

"_Orders received... I see them, moving out._" There was a pause. "_I'm contacting Commander Krual. __M__aybe he'd like to join us._"

The Krogan grinned. Vengeance came to those who waited.

Remembering his training, he moved away from the outpost, careful not to disrupt his active camouflage. It had been a long time since he'd killed something other than broken slaves.

* * *

**Well, I'm back. Took a bit longer then I thought, both to finish up school and a couple other things life through my way, but here I am.**

**As for where I am going with this whole Rising Maw thing (I'm not really good with names if you hadn't noticed) I didn't just want to drop them into Shepard's hands right away without setting something straight. To side track a bit here, some people have asked me when they will meet up with shepard. I will be perfectly honest with you; not for a while.**

**Before you abandon me, hear me out. Right now, so early in their development, I didn't feel that it would be right for them to meet shepard this soon, even if he is still dead. Yes he is going to be male. I don't just want to throw them right into the action of the main cannon without setting somethings straight, such as their biology, how they're alive, and just start to fill in the gaps of how they got there in the first place and, more importantly, their limitations so I'm not writing a mary-sue curbstomp all the time when it comes to fights. I just find that no fun to write about and I'm guessing it's no fun to read over and over again either. Okay sure, there was a little of that in this chapter, but I had to get the ball rolling somehow.**

**As for the Rising Maws themselves they popped in in my brainstorming session of how I could make the Jaeger's stay on Omega less of a bore and keep them out of the repetitive cycle of doing easy jobs for Aria. That would just get boring, for you and me both.**

**As for the chapter itself... it wasn't what I would call the best in my books, and this is the fourth rewrite of the original concept. The dialog still feels awkward, even after everything I did to fix it.**

**Personal gripes aside, this will be the start of a thrilling first saga in the Jaeger's new lives in the mass effect universe. Read and enjoy. But reviews are welcome, make no mistake.**

**As for a return to regular updates every Saturday... we will have to see.**

**DG out!**

**(Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or Pacific Rim)**


	8. The Rising Maw Part 2

"Well, that went better than I expected," Kriln gasped, bending over as he sucked in air after their run back to base. "Yeah, best one yet."

He gasped again as he clutched his aching lungs. "Damn I'm out of shape."

Gipsy didn't know whether to agree with him or just let the comment go by. He looked like every other Turian she'd seen, lean and sort of barrel chested. So far as she knew he wasn't out of shape, unless that armor he wore had hidden pockets in space that could hide his many rolls of fat.

She briefly focused her attention inward, wondering where that thought had come from... and did Turians get fat? The answers to those questions came in reverse: So far as she knew; no. And didn't Yancy and Raleigh have an uncle who was on the heavy side? Yeah, she remembered that he would always drop that "I'm out of shape" line on a daily basis along with "I should work out." Though according to Raleigh's memories he never did.

As Kriln finally straightened, taking in another deep breath, Gipsy was silently thankful she didn't have lungs or needed to breath like he did. It looked painful. All she felt was a slight strain on her knee joints and heat build up in her coolant systems, but nothing as crippling as what Kriln had gone through. He looked ready to drop.

Their hasty retreat from the Maw outpost went without a hitch and they quickly arrived back at the warehouse that was the GI-7's headquarters. They gathered in the briefing room where Gipsy immediately shoved her new Revenant into Crimson arms and begged him to fix it, the effects of Jrels sabotage grenade still afflicting the powerful weapon. Soon after they were joined by Phil, out of breath but not nearly as bad as Kriln followed shortly by Jrel. The Quarian still had his modified grenade launcher and Gipsy was worried he'd actually try to blow them to bits. If that was the case then he'd only get off one shot before they swarmed him. But her fears were quelled when he only stepped in to say a few terse words to Kriln before stepping out again, giving them an angry glare before the door shut behind him. With Phil it was much the same. A brief conversation about the data before he too exited.

Apparently the data was still heavily encrypted, a fact that both Kriln and Crimson found interesting, and he was taking it to another room where he could begin the decoding process.

The left only Aniya uncounted for, something that didn't surprise Kriln in the slightest. According to him she was the team infiltrator with almost four hundred years of experience under her belt and usually always the last one back from operations like this. Possibly mopping up stragglers that managed to escape or heading off reinforcements.

As the minutes ticked by, Gipsy very quickly found herself getting bored. Striker and Cherno were standing in the corner having a private conversation over their radios. From their body language it was quite civil talk... at least, that's what she thought. Striker wasn't threatening to kill anyone just yet so that was a plus. Crimson was leaning over the table, carefully examining the insides of the Revenent with a perplexed air about him. Then he paused, his eye narrowing as he saw something within.

"Hmm, Z55-75 accelerator rails... I think." He gently inserted a finger into the delicate components and poked at it. "Powerful hardware, even for a gun like this."

"A Z55? Are you kidding me," Kriln asked as he walked around the table to look over Crimson's shoulder. As he looked to where the Jaeger was pointing he let out a low whistle. How that was possible without lips, Gipsy had no idea. "That's... close to a 75, not quite though. How do you know about Z55 line anyway."

"I read a lot," Crimson shrugged. "Correct me if I'm wrong here, but aren't the Z55 series reserved for heavy sniper rifles?"

"Yeah," Kriln grunted. "No other heat system can handle the build up, much less the power..."

He trailed off as he noticed something, or rather, the lack there of. "Turn it over," he commanded.

Gently, Crimson pried the component out of the gun casing before rotating it under the light of the briefing room. The smooth casing of the accelerator rail gleamed under the light. It looked to be brand new, with the wear of only a few week tarnishing the component. But there was one thing it was lacking.

"There's no serial number," Kriln noted as Crimson rotated it further. "No company ID, no registration, nothing."

"Is that bad?" Gipsy asked, hovering behind Crimson's other shoulder as he dissected her new toy.

"I'm not sure," Kriln replied. "The Z55 series is only made by a select number of companies in Citadel space. While other Terminus companies have tried they couldn't recreate the firepower and the people who bought them ended up with cheap knock-offs that burned out after the first shot. As it is, the Z55s are usually used in Black Widows and other anti-material rifles. To see one in a machine gun is... disturbing."

"Why?"

"Because the people who make them have military contracts. They don't just hand them out like candy to every weapon vender in the galaxy. How the Maws got their hands on tech like this I have no idea, and in a machine gun no less."

"Or it could be one of a kind," Crimson interjected, setting the rail aside as he dug deeper into the weapon's entrails. "The way your talking your making it sound like they all have this tech in their weapons. Might just be a personal firearm."

"Maybe," Kriln nodded. "But look at it, it's almost brand new. Come to think about it, so is the rest of it. The cost of this weapon alone would be half a million and I doubt the Maws would spend that much on a single soldier."

"Again, maybe just a personal firearm bought with personal credits," Crimson sighed. "I think you're just paranoid. Sure they might have some good weapons but that doesn't mean they have the makers wrapped around their finger."

His eye darkened as he gently moved aside a few move components inside the casing, then brightened as he saw the problem.

"There you are," he grinned as he pulled out the thermal clip ejection module. As it came out into the light, Gipsy couldn't help but wince at the damage.

Whatever Jrel's grenade had done it had caused the heatsync to explode in the chamber. The casing of the module had managed to contain the tiny home-made grenade, shredding itself to pieces in the process and rendering the whole weapon useless.

"Can you fix it?" Gipsy asked, staring at the little box in Crimson's hand.

"Oh yes, It'll be easy," Crimson assured her. "Just need a new unit is all. Now, all I need is the module ID and..." He turned the device over in his hands, searching for the magic serial number. After a few seconds he turned it over again, but still couldn't find a thing.

"This is a fairly standard unit, right?" he asked, passing the module over his shoulder to Kriln. Raising an eyeridge, the Turian plucked it from his hands and scanned it carefully.

"Yeah," he replied after a moment. "Standard enough that just about every competent gun smith can pop one out in a few minutes at a work bench. But I can see what your getting at here. No ID or serial number. But that's all too common with this piece. Most companies that do make them don't even bother putting a serial number on, that's how common they are."

"So technically I could just tear apart any rifle and put it in?"

"Most likely, yeah," Kriln nodded, handing the module back. "You would just need to find one that fits first. Try a sniper first or a heavy shotgun, their chambers might work better for a Revenent."

"Thanks for the tip," Crimson said, giving him an appreciative look.

Before the Turian could respond, the door opened and Phil strolled in followed closely by Aniya. The Salarian was engrossed in his omni-tool, scowling deeply at what was on the screen. He was so caught up in his device he never noticed the green form of Cherno looming ahead and crashed right into him. He rebounded off, uttering a few hurried apologizes as the Russian giant turned to face him before striding around the table.

"Decoded what I could," he said, transferring something from his omni-tool to the projector.

"And?" Kriln asked.

"Interesting data. Again, wasn't able to decode it all. Encryption is... very sophisticated. Troubling, when you consider where it comes from. But, unfortunately, what I got isn't very good." He tapped one final button on his omni-tool and the projector hummed to life, revealing squares of holographic light that were covered in lines of text and numbers. "As you suspected, manifests, but they lead to more dead ends."

"Tell us what you got," Kriln said, pushing off Crimson's back and accepting the data-pad that Aniya pulled from no where and slapped into his hand.

"From what I could find, Qill was only one of seven smugglers employed by the Maws. From the records he had been running supplies, weapons and armor mostly, past the premium."

"And the other six," Kriln asked, half distracted by the data-pad.

Phil sighed. "They're dead, unfortunately. They each delivered shipments down to the outpost, each a week apart. Once the goods were delivered their contracts were terminated. Literately."

"And the evidence cleared away for the rest to come without suspicion," Kriln finished. "Did they piss off the boss or something?"

"Hardly. In the data, beside the manifests, there was message directed to the outpost itself. 'Blank-slate,' that's all it said. It's safe to say that the Maws were cleaning up the loose ends of anyone who did business with them."

A deep rumble cut him off as Cherno stepped up to the table, followed closely by Striker.

"He's asking what they were shipping," Crimson translated at Phil's puzzled expression.

"Ah. Well... here is where it gets kind of confusing." He tapped some more buttons on his omni-tool and more data popped up on the projector.

The room was quiet as they all read silently, before Cherno let out a warble of confusion, pointing at a particular column of text and numbers.

"Are you sure you got the right stuff?" Crimson asked slowly, the Revenent before him quite forgotten. "That isn't what I was expecting."

"I know," Phil shrugged. "I doubled checked and triple checked to make sure myself. But this is it."

"Restocf Manufactures," Kriln read aloud. "Thirteen thousand units of Code A443, ten of A879 and twenty of V005 delivered by Smug. 04. Shit." He shook his head. "Phil, you wouldn't have happened to search that stuff make a rough cost estimate of it all?"

The Salarian nodded and took a breath before replying, "fifteen million."

Kriln's mouth opened in surprise and even Aniya raised an eye ridge at the amount. It took a moment for the Turian to get his breath back before he gasped out; "fifteen_ million?_"

"That... is a lot," Crimson said, eye glowing brightly.

"_Ahhhhhh_," Striker groaned over the radio. "_Math. The torture._"

"And that's only for Restocf itself," Phil continued grimly. "There are records of thirty million being payed to Volvan Colonial Supplies for heavy grade prefab units, all of them delivered by our third dead smuggler."

"Volvan?" Kriln asked, sounding more surprised then he already did. "Aren't they the ones that funded the Hierarchy's latest colony? You know, the one one the verge of Terminus space?"

"The very same," Phil nodded.

"But heavy grade prefabs, those are military grade standard. Why the hell do they want them here on Omega?"

Phil shrugged. "No idea. However, every shipment delivered for the past year is a grand total of almost one hundred and fifty five million credits."

There was silence for a full minute, before Cherno let out a sound that could only be described as a low whistle.

"One hundred fifty million?" Kriln asked quietly.

The Salarian nodded.

"And how much would the premium charge on all that?"

Phil's head dipped as he ran the numbers in his head. "Triple that amount."

"Oh shit," Kriln moaned, burying his head in his hands. "Aria's gonna be pissed."

"Only if she finds out," Phil cut in. "If we can reclaim some of those funds from the Maws, hand them over to Aria _without_ mentioning the total amount we can slowly work our way up from there with what good graces of hers we already have. Giving her a report of a very, _very_ large hole without doing anything to fill it is a good way to lose your head. Literally."

"So you're saying we lie to her?" Kriln asked, head emerging from it's refuge.

"Hardly. We just don't tell her. Well, the full amount anyway. Say we cut it into eights or tenths, get that amount back and make a report. Then we say that we found some more credits that they got away with. She'll be mad, sure, but at least we'll have something to show for getting it back."

"And just repeat the same thing over and over again," Kriln said, scratching his chin. "That could take years though."

"Not if we do it right," Phil replied, raising a finger. "You forget that you're talking to the Salarian who successfully stole from the Citadel Banking Union in less then a week and got away with thirty million in solid cash."

"Is that why you're _ex_-STG?" Crimson asked dryly.

Phil chuckled. "Oh no, I just quit. I friends in high places who were simply ecstatic to get a free all-expense-paid vacation to some paradise out in space."

"So you bribed them?"

"Hardly. They paid me to rob the bank. Then of course they ratted me out when they had their fun." He smiled giddily. "But by then I was already gone... along with every last credit of their savings."

"Dare I ask what you did with it all?" Crimson asked warily.

"Hmmm... I would prefer to keep that to myself."

"Fair enough."

"Can we get back to the point," Kriln interrupted. "We have millions of credits we need to get back and no idea _where_ to get them. And if we don't, Aria will have our heads."

"Leave the _where_ to me," Phil said wit another smile. "It should be simple to work out the ID of the buyer's account that made the transactions from the manifests. Once I have that, it'll be easy to track down the target and plant a Packet. From there we can work out the flow of credits from any accounts that it came in connect with recently."

"Okay," Kriln said, nodding. "So we get the ID of the person who paid for all the goods, track him down, you plant your little thing and it'll give us everything he did with his cash."

"Correct. However, planting the cipher requires being in close proximity of the target. Should that prove difficult it might require..." he glanced over at Cherno and his massive fists. "...manual persuasion."

"This Packet," Crimson asked, raising a finger in polite interruption, "what is it exactly?".

"It's a virus, of my own design," Phil replied proudly. "When implanted in an omni-tool it'll worm it's way through the systems and give us access to anything I wish. In this case, financial records."

"So that's the plan then?" Crimson asked again, pushing the dissected Revenent aside, much to Gipsy's dismay. "We find this guy, you put your Packet in and then we track down the leads."

"Correct," Phil chirped. "If we pull this off right we could be well on our way to reclaiming the full amount, and then some."

"Sounds fucking peachy," Striker grumbled.

"How long will it take you to get ID?" Kriln asked.

Phil shrugged. "Give me a day, tops."

"Good. Aniya..." he looked around, but the dark skinned Asari was gone. She had slipped out during their little planning session. The Turian gave a deep sigh. "Why couldn't she just stay for one minute. Anyway, Phil, get that ID. When you have it, Aniya will help you track the guy down. If you can't get it done, we call out the big guns."

He glanced over to Crimson. "You up to tracking down a Krogan?"

Crimson smiled, eye glowing brightly. "Sounds challenging, and yet, entertaining."

"Good. Now pass me that Revenent."

"Um," Crimson faltered, glancing down at the weapon on the table before sliding it over. "Sure, but... why?"

Kriln shook his head, looking over the carefully organized pieces of the machine gun. "Something about it is just rubbing me the wrong way, and I have no idea what."

Looking inside the casing, he frowned. "Phil, before you go come have a look at this."

As the three geniuses in the room hunched over the weapon's innards, pointing out various pieces and such, Gipsy found herself becoming bored once again. Her excitement over her new ranged death bringer had dulled slightly with the prospect of it being broken, but she hoped that Crimson would have it back up to working order soon. But now, with planing their next move against the Maws done with and nothing left for them to do other then standing around, the bane of her existence, boredom, returned.

Crimson was occupied with the Revenent and Cherno and Striker had resumed their own private conversation, about what she had no idea, and she felt no incline to join them. So what left was there to do?

She sighed, air rushing out of her vents... then she paused.

She could have sworn, just at the very utmost edge of her advanced hearing, that she heard the slight whooshing sound of the front door opening.

At first she shrugged it off. They were hardly the only ones here and it could have been either Aniya or Jrel leaving. But something inside her rebelled against that thought. For some reason, it just didn't feel right.

And just like that, the dread from before the raid returned full force, gripping her core with it's icy fingers. It was talking to her, slowly directing her gaze to door and whispering of horrors unknown that lay beyond.

Something was there, and the feeling inside wouldn't let her push it away.

She pushed herself away from the table and headed for the door. No one batted an eye as she walked out, to busy with whatever they were doing to pay any notice.

As she stepped out into the hallway, she saw that the front door at the far end was closed and locked, the red hologram cementing this fact. But the dread wouldn't let up. Silently giving in, she stalked up the hall, opening each door as she passed, leaving no stone unturned as the dread demanded. There were six doors, three on each side. In one, opposite the room she just left, was storage room filled with crates. Curses and shouts drifted out, giving away Jrel's hiding spot deeper in the warehouse. She could pick up some of the words and quickly deduced that half the curses were directed at them. The next two were a tight bunk room with a bathroom opposite. She winced at the odour that drifted out before hurrying away. The next door up opened to an advanced computer room, with screens dangling from the ceiling and attached to the wall. Most likely the place where Phil had decoded the data.

As she moved to the next door on her right she froze. There, standing in front of the front door was a hazy shape, little more than a slight blur in the air. The same blur she thought she saw at the outpost. Before she could figure out what it was, the shape solidified, pitch black armor replacing the hazy blur, but she forgot everything else as she saw the shotgun raised to her chest.

She saw it buck, saw the muzzle flash, but heard nothing as the shot struck her armor, making a new dent in the metal a half inch deep. Before he could fire again Gipsy was already moving, legs pounding as she closed the distance. Dammit, why did Crimson have to take apart her new toy and not put it back together, and when she needed it most too.

The fully armored Krogan, for it was a Krogan, saw her coming and tried to twist to the side but the hallway was too narrow. Gipsy hit him with all the force of a speeding freight train, knocking him to the ground.

He was smaller then other Krogan Gipsy had seen, a slippery little bugger too, jerking his head to the side and dodging her speeding fist as it headed for his helmet.

Growling, she raised her fist again when something slammed into her side, knocking her off the fallen brute and against the wall. She recovered quickly and looked up just in time to see another Krogan raise it's shotgun to her head. She lashed out, knocking the weapon upward where it fired silently into the ceiling before driving her fist into it's gut, knocking the wind out of him.

The hallway was to tight to use her swords and her plasma cannons were useless unless given time to charge so she was back to the basics.

The Krogan she'd just punched staggered back, wheezing through his helmet while the first was crawling to his feet, grasping for his shotgun. She stepped over and kicked out his arm, hearing the satisfying crack of bone as her foot continued onward through the mangled mess of a limb and into his skull. With a shudder, it fell to the ground, blood pooling around it's shattered cranium. As she tried to pull her foot out, one she'd punched came back, ramming into her from behind. It wouldn't have been so bad if her foot wasn't caught in the dead Krogan's brains, setting her whole stance off balance. As it was, the blow sent her toppling to the ground, landing on the fallen Krogan with grunt.

As she tried to get up, she felt something get shoved into the vulnerable circuitry in her right armpit, then pain, indescribable agony as the shotgun discharged its silent, deadly round into her side, and she screamed. She screamed like the day Yancy had been torn from her and the pain... oh the pain! She barely heard the sound of the door opening and the other Jaegers rushing to her aid as the shotgun fired again, severing tubes, wires and searing hydraulics.

The pain.

She didn't notice or even cared when her attacker collapsed on her back, speared through the hearts by Striker's blades.

She just wanted the pain to stop.

-Linebreak-

"Gipsy!" Crimson hoped his cry wasn't as desperate as he thought it was.

He had started running the moment he'd heard her cry, and when he saw the Krogan standing over her writhing form he saw only red as he charged forward. His only regret was that Striker had beat him there, jabbing his sting-blades into the brute's back with expert precision, causing it drop on Gipsy's stilling form.

"Shit!" he swore as he dropped to his knees at her side, throwing off the corpse and examining her damage. Her armor was intact, but that was no good news for what was inside. Her joint was almost completely shredded, sparks jumping from severed wires as she impulsively tried to move her arm. Black oil and hissing coolant flowed from her shoulder and pooled on the corpse beneath her.

She whimpered as he gently probed the damage, her fingers twitched in response.

"Crimson," she said weakly, her vents hitching as she spoke. "It hurts."

"Just hang on, Gipsy," he said, gently flipping her onto her back and laying a comforting hand on her undamaged shoulder. "Everything will be alright, you hear me?"

She nodded weakly.

Cherno stomped up noisily behind him and let out a mournful keen.

"She'll be alright," he replied, carefully helping her to her feet. Her right arm dangled uselessly by her side.

Just then Kriln ran up behind Cherno, his rifle clutched in his hands. Behind him were Phil and Aniya, him with his SMG and her with her massive sniper rifle. The Turian took one look at the dead Krogan, swore, and whirled on Phil. "How the hell did they get in?!"

The Salarian shrugged, looking on in morbid fascination as Crimson supported Gipsy on his arm. "I don't know. Security systems were on and the door was locked with triple encryption of my own design."

"Shit," Kriln swore again before reaching down and picking up one of the shotguns the Krogans had used. After examining it for a moment he dropped it. "M-22 Eviscerator. Modded for armor penetration, three shot capacity with a silencer attachment. Used, but well cared for by the looks of it."

He cast a look at Gipsy. "Will she be alright?"

"Yes," Crimson lied through the grills on his speakers. He didn't know how bad the damage was, and the fact that she was a Jaeger made the prospect of fixing her even more difficult. Because she was a Jaeger, a machine that never existed here, they might not even be able to repair her. The difference between them and those walking tin cans called LOKI mechs was never more apparent. You couldn't just walk into a tech shop and get a spare part for a Jaeger like you could a mech.

As Gipsy gasped again, Crimson cursed his lack of foresight. The tools he'd gotten were useless. If they were back to their regular size they would be more helpful, but here? Components that took two dozen grown men and cranes to lift into place were now no bigger than a grape and twice as delicate. With that came the growing fear that he wouldn't be able to do a thing. Gipsy could lose her arm for good.

"I can't fix her here though," he continued, "we need to get her back to our apartment, I have the tools there."

"Okay," Kriln nodded. "We can carry on from here without you anyway." He appeared to struggle with himself for a moment before saying, "I hope she's alright."

Then he shook his head. "Never thought I'd say that about a mech."

"Jaeger," Gipsy gasped out, slipping her good hand around Crimson's shoulder and holding on tight. "We're Jaegers. Get it... Ah!" She cried out as her shoulder sparked, sending a fresh wave of agony through her system.

"Fascinating," Phil murmured, an intrigued look coming to his face. "How is it you can feel pain?"

Cherno turned, rumbling like a mother bear as he put himself between the Salarian and his wounded comrade. Phil held up his hands, apologizing profusely as Jrel ran up, his grenade launcher clutched in his hands.

"What did I miss?" he asked, breathing heavily.

"Everything," Kriln replied, kicking one of the dead Krogan. They both had the symbol of the Rising Maws painted in red on their shoulder plates. "How the hell did they find us?"

"Them obviously," Jrel growled motioning to the Jaegers. "They're hard to fucking miss."

Gipsy gave another groan as a fresh torrent of sparks jumped from her damaged joint.

"We need to go," Crimson said urgently, looking at Kriln and motioning to the locked door where Striker was trying, and failing to open it. "Open the door."

At the Turian's orders, Phil stepped forward, just managing to sneak by Cherno's bulk and shooing Striker away as he unlocked the door.

"Thank you," Crimson nodded, supporting Gipsy as they headed out to the nearest skycar station.

They made a strange group as they trudged through Omega, earning many strange looks, more so than the, now regular, looks of fear. Striker was in front, sting-blades drawn and daring anyone to come near. Next was Crimson, still supporting Gipsy who kept on gasping silently as her damaged arm jerked with every movement she made. Last was Cherno, the near unstoppable rear guard. He kept on rumbling questions at Crimson, asking if she was going to be alright. He ignored him for the most part, still worrying about it himself.

At last they reached a station in the markets. They could have walked home, but they wanted to spare Gipsy as much pain as they could. That said, they decided to take separate skycars. They could barely fit all four of them into one and since they laid Gipsy out on the back seat they decided only Crimson would accompany her for the ride.

As the skycar lifted off into the air, Crimson looked out on the market and he felt his core burn as he saw someone standing on the outskirts. It was another Krogan, black armor with the Rising Maw symbol painted proudly on his chest. His head was bare and Crimson just managed to see a grey headplate and a long deep scar running across his left eye before the skycar flew away.

The Krogan's eyes never left the fleeing vehicle. His best had failed, but that was nothing to him. There were still plenty more where that came from.

-Linebreak-

"Easy, easy," Crimson grunted as he gently lowered Gipsy onto the single bed that wasn't burnt to a crisp.

They'd made it back to the apartment with little trouble, besides Gipsy near paralyzed with pain as her damaged mechanisms grated against each other. According to her it only seemed to grow worse with each passing minute.

Near frantic, Crimson ran to grab the tools he'd gotten and rushed back to her bedside, sorting through them desperately. His fears from before proved themselves to be true. There was nothing here that could fix the damage she'd suffered.

"Gipsy," he said quietly, picking up he welder he gotten.

Her head turned to look at him, visor glowing in a painful grimace.

"I know this is going to be hard," he continued softly, "but I need you to shut down. To sleep."

"But it hurts," she whimpered, vents hitching.

"I know it hurts," he replied, resting a hand on her chest plate. "But if I tr... If I'm going to fix you I'm going to need to do some things that hurt even more. Do you understand?"

She nodded weakly.

"Good," Crimson smiled, taking her good hand and grasping it in a firm but comforting grip. "I'm here for you, you understand? When you wake up, you'll be all better."

Her turbine was winding down, her body settling into it's sleep cycle as her visor began to darken. Before it went dark she manged to get out one last question: "Promise?"

Crimson couldn't bring himself to answer as her body relaxed completely. Her turbine was still turning, but powering only the most vital systems.

With a deep sigh, Crimson set to work, probing inside the ruined joint with a screwdriver. He found at least five ruptured oil and coolant lines that he began to seal with a glob of molten metal from the welder to each

As he gently prodded the hissing end of one of her coolant lines he noticed something... odd. Mixed in the white mist that gushed from the end was a heavy bluish tint. He blinked and leaned in closer. Yes, there was something there, a bluish gas that dissipated almost instantly in the open air. His mind buzzed with questions, but he pushed them aside and resumed his painstakingly careful work.

He had just finished severing and sealing one of her shredded main power cables when he heard the front door to the apartment open. There was a pause before heavy foot steps approached the bedroom door. Sighing heavily, Crimson carefully removed his tools from the wound just the door opened and Cherno entered, followed closely by Striker. They stood at the foot of the bed looking down on Gipsy's limp form.

After a minute of silence Cherno let out a questioning warble.

It took even longer before Crimson could bring himself to answer. "Not good."

"Will she make it?" Striker asked, voice weak.

Crimson sighed again, sorting his tools on the floor by the bedside. "Yes, she'll make it, but..."

"But?" Striker pressed, voice going hard.

"...but she may never be able to use her arm again," Crimson finished sadly, rising to his feet.

Cherno wailed in alarm as Crimson shushed him.

"Not in here," he growled, motioning to Gipsy. "I'll... I'll explain it all outside."

With that, he started to shoo them out. Striker left with little difficulty, but Crimson had to pry Cherno's hand off the door frame before the Russian would leave. Before the door closed behind him, Crimson cast one more sad look at Gipsy, wondering how on earth he would explain this to her. Then the door closed and the lights shut down, casting the bedroom into darkness, save for the hellish glow cast by Gipsy's turbine.

If someone had stayed and watched, they would have seen the same bluish gas gently float up from out of her turbine, collecting over her like a cloud of before drifting down and covering her frame in a veiled mist of blue.

-Linebreak-

_Awareness started to return with all the speed of a snail, leaving Gipsy as tired as tired could be. Her visor felt like it would never online and her body felt heavy and stiff and her joints clogged with syrup. But she was no longer in pain. All that was left in her right shoulder was a dull tingle. Crimson must have done a good job then._

_She sighed in relief... then paused._

_Something wasn't right._

_She searched her sluggish mind to find what it was and came up with an odd sensation. She felt like she was... floating. She'd never floated before, but she had vague memories from her pilots of swimming in pools and it felt rather much like that. But how could she be floating? She was on a bed._

_Wasn't she?_

_More determined than ever, she forced her visor online, but it just wouldn't work, like her tiredness was a physical being keeping her nonexistent eyes shut. She fought with it, and felt it give with every passing second. When it did come online it was hazy and blurred, but what she saw was... strange._

_Blue clouds. Blue clouds all around, drifted in front of her and covering the world in a thick blanket of mist. _

_Then she realized something else: She _was_ floating. Floating in the air like a balloon. She also realized that while her vents tried, there was no air to suck in. She was in nothing... nothing but blue clouds._

_Suddenly she saw a black shape drifting towards her through the shifting mist. Through her hazy vision, she could barely made it out as something... familiar... horribly familiar. It's limbs swam before her visor, a tangled mess of shadows that writhed like tentacles and lights along it's body that shone like sickly yellow yellow eyes... and it was coming towards her._

_Her core spiked in terror as it sparked a familiar fear inside of her. Of the creatures that they had fought with and the same ones that had claimed their first lives in the war. But for some reason her mind didn't label it as Kaiju... no. Deep, deep down she could feel that it were something else, something... different. _

_As it drew closer she saw other shapes detach from the murky backdrop of blue, joining the first in a strange dance of twisting limbs and lights. And all of them were coming closer. The fear inside blazed into an inferno. She wanted to run. To run away from these things and never look back but she couldn't move, dammit!_

_Her fingers twitched and her vents heaved as she tried to force her body to move, but to no avail._

_Then the first one reached her and she froze as a shadowy limb danced over her wounded shoulder, sending tingles down her sensor net. A sound drifted into her audio sensors, a whisper, like a quiet breeze flowing over an empty field. It was answered by a dozen more, growing into an incomprehensible buzz before it stopped._

_Then the first form backed off as the others closed in around her. From their midst, another one drifted forward to hover before her. It was a tad smaller then the rest, but no less terrifying._

_It seemed to regard her for a moment before waving a tentacle/limb/thing in front of her visor. She shut it off, not wanting to look at it anymore and tried to twist her head away but only managing a slight jerk to the right._

_Apparently it was what they were waiting for. The whispers returned, fighting to be heard over each other before one overpowering growl silenced them all._

_Then Gipsy felt a cold limb grab her shoulder and pull her forward. She whimpered, the first sound she'd made since this all began. It seemed loud in her audios as she waited for something to happen._

_Then a voice, heavily distorted as though through water whispered in her audios: "**Welcome back, Gipsy Danger.**"_

* * *

**Well, chapter 8 is here. Took me long enough. A lot going here, continuing the Rising Maw story line as well as starting part of the over arching story of how they got there. More on that coming soon.**

**To Slyr3x... I guess it might be okay, but thanks for bringing the fact that I never touched up on what the Jaeger's voices sounded like to my attention. So here is a quick guide to their voices so I don't have to go back and rewrite a previous chapter.**

**Gipsy Danger: Teenaged girl.**

**Striker Eureka: Kind of like Chuck.**

**Crimson Typhoon: Like his pilots, young yet kind of mature.**

**Cherno Alpha: A beached whale that sings in very low bass.**

**Now to Ibilliss. I am aware that Crimson has plasma cannon, but thanks anyway for the reminder.**

**Still no regular updates so far as I can see with college coming up, but I will do the best I can.**

**DJ out!**

**(Just like last time, I don't own Pacific Rim or Mass Effect. Happy?)**


	9. The Rising Maw Part 3

In the brief time that they'd been living in the apartment, Crimson couldn't remember it being so silent. It seemed that even the machinery that made up their bodies was quiet. The news was... difficult to take in. Gipsy... could be a cripple for the rest of her life, however long that might be.

Crimson had explained it as best he could. They were just too advanced, their internal mechanisms too specialized and too strong to find any replacements. There was no one that made the parts she needed, and even if they did it would be near impossible for them to get their hands on it.

There was a long, empty silence following his words. Striker and Cherno sat on the broken couch, visors dark in the gloomy atmosphere.

Before long, Cherno raised his massive head and let out a mournful, questioning keen.

"I don't know," Crimson replied miserably, pacing up and down in front of the HS. "We could leave it on, but then what good is an arm attached to you if you can't use it."

He stopped and shook his head sadly. "I think it's best if I just amputate it before she wakes up."

At his words Cherno wailed, alarmed and Striker stiffened, visor glowing angrily. "What bloody good is that gonna do?!" he shouted.

"It will save her agony," Crimson replied tightly. "If we leave it attached there is no guaranty that I'll be able to sever all the nerves in the joint. Our neural circuitry is just to advanced to let something like this slide."

After a moments pause Cherno let out a confused warble.

"Oh for the love of..." Crimson groaned. "Alright. You know how our pilots drifted with us?"

Cherno nodded.

"Not only did they merge their minds to move us but also their bodies. You remember the drivesuits they wore? The under layer, the circuitry suit, connects directly to their nervous system which reads the electrical impulses their body creates. That is what they used to pilot us, but it also worked both ways. We have, what is basically an artificial nervous system running through our bodies that was connected to our pilots so they could feel everything we could. Pain included." He gave a deep sigh.

"When Gipsy was shot it went clean through the joint and ricocheted off the inside of her armor, causing even more damage. That includes shredding the nerve bundles that run through it to her arm. They're still mostly intact but that's not much better. When she tries to move something they rub against each other and it sends impulses that her processors identify as pain. Lots of it."

"And how is cutting off her arm going to help?" Striker growled.

"It will sever all the nerves bundles so I can seal them off, keep them from picking up any signals. It's not perfect, but it'll keep her from going mad with agony."

"So we're just gonna cut off her arm and leave it at that?!" Striker shouted. "Whats she gonna think, huh? How do you think she's gonna handle this without-"

"THEN WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO!" Crimson almost screamed, his frustration breaking forth and making the two shrink back into the couch.

"I'm doing the best I can here!" he continued, a twinge of hopelessness creeping into his voice. "I can't fix her, I admit it, but what do you want me to do?! I can't just leave her like that! She could barely stand when we got here, I had to drag her in and you're asking me to leave her like that?"

There was silence.

"Look," Crimson said in a soft, defeated tone. "I don't want to do this either, but what else are we going to do? If we could find some way fix her, trust me I'd jump at the chance but... I can't. If we leave it on... she could get worse."

Cherno groaned, lifting his head to look Crimson in the eye.

The crimson Jaeger sighed. "Well... if we leave it on she could go mad over time. We're machines, and however advanced we might be, we don't heal on our own. And the pain, so far as I can tell, just won't stop. If it goes on long enough she might decide that... that this new life just... isn't worth living anymore."

"And she might... ya' know?" Striker spoke up quietly, making a pistol with his hand and pointing it at his head.

"It's possible," Crimson nodded. "I'd like to think she wouldn't but... remembering some of the things the Wei's knew it's... a very likely possibility."

"And how is losing her arm any better?" Striker said, showing a surprising amount of sympathy for their Mark III companion. "If she loses that what's keeping her from thinking she's useless, huh?"

Cherno rumbled deep in his frame as he twisted to look at the Australian.

"Really? Because last time she lost an arm they threw her in Oblivion Bay."

"She lost one of her pilots too," Crimson pointed out.

"That wouldn't have stopped them from finding new ones and fixing her. But nope! Lose an arm, you're no good to us anymore. Out with the trash! What's stopping her from think that?

"Do you have any better idea's then?!" Crimson shouted, his frustration breaking loose again.

The Mark V glared, fist's clenched and vents heaving, but nothing was forthcoming.

"Alright," Crimson said, sounding more miserable then ever. "I... am going to get ready. If you can think of anything, _anything_, before I start... you're welcome to share it."

With that, he started dragging his feet towards the bedroom, dreading the coming operation with every step. On the couch, Striker and Cherno sat staring at the floor miserably. Then Cherno glanced at Striker and let out a low warble.

"Yeah, I care," Striker snapped. "You got a problem with that?"

The giant rumbled again.

"Not like that, idiot, don't get any fucking ideas."

Before Cherno could reply the bedroom door opened. There was a moment of silence before Crimson let out an audio shattering "WHAT!"

The two were off the couch before they knew it and gathered behind the three armed Jaeger standing frozen in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. As the lights snapped on Cherno let out a loud belching gasp.

The bed was empty. Gipsy Danger was gone.

-Linebreak-

_She hadn't dared to online her visor, not since the _thing_ had spoken to her._

_She didn't know how long had passed since she'd come here. How did she get here in the first place?... Where _was_ here anyway?_

_As sluggish mind mulled over these questions she felt a cold something dance over the dented plating on her chest. It traced the roundish hole left from when the Krogan shot her and then the whispers came back._

_But now it was quite normal. They would probe over her body, lingering over her dents and scrapes and whisper to each other. And wherever they touched a strange tingling would follow. She didn't know what it was, but it terrified her none the less. The mere thought of being helpless, unable to fight these things filled her core with fear. If she could move she would have rather gone down swinging then let these things have their way with her. These..._

_She hesitated, unwilling to accept what they could be. She'd had suspicions ever since she saw them, a terrifying idea of their identity._

_Precursors._

_Creatures of the Kaiju. Invaders of earth. The puppeteers pulling the strings. She'd seen them once before, in the brief seconds before she died. Only once, and it was enough to ingrain the image in her mind forever._

_She whimpered again, willing them to go away. To go away and never bother her again: But fate was never that kind._

_Another cold appendage probed in her wounded armpit, sending shivers down her spine. The wound had stopped tingling a while ago and she couldn't bare to think about what they'd done to it... or what they were doing to her._

_Then, in the midst of the whispers another deep growl broke through, silencing them all. She waited, quiet and fearful. For some reason the thought of being captured by their creators was far more terrifying then being killed by Kaiju. What were they going to do to her... or what had they already done?_

_The tight grip around her shoulders returned and she felt herself being pulled forward before the voice whispered in her audio again._

"_**Gipsy Danger,**" it said, "**I know you can hear me.**"_

_She whimpered in response, trying to twist away but her body was as frozen as ever._

"_**You found a way out... ****s****omehow you escaped.**"_

_Her breath hitched in her vents as the grip on her shoulders tightened. Escaped from what?... From them?_

"_**We waited****,**" it continued, "**for a sign, anything to say that you were still alive. The four of you were taken so fast we never even got to say good bye. But now, here you are, back with us once again.**"_

_Dread clenched her core. The four of them?... How did they know about the others? Unless..._

_Suddenly she felt a slight tugging sensation, like the gentle pull of current in a stream. The voice seemed to felt it as well, the grip becoming more forced like it was trying to hold her in place, to keep her from drifting away, shaking her as it did so._

"_**Stop ignoring us!**" the voice growled and she felt something grab the top of her head and twist her visor towards the creature, but it couldn't make her online it. "**You four are the only ones who escaped! You can open the Breach! You can let us out!**"_

_It shook her again in anger. "**You can't abandon us, Gipsy Danger! Not after all we did! Do you think the outside is for you alone!**"_

_The pull was growing stronger, the thing tightening it's grip as she was pulled away._

"_**You have to help us!**" the voice shouted, fading away as it's grip loosened and she was send flying back, the current pulling her like a rushing river._

"_**You owe it to us!**"_

_Then a burning sensation like she passed through a ring of fire, tumbling head over heels, unable to control her falling before..._

Her visor snapped online and she sat up in a panic.

She was back in the bedroom. The the rusting walls, the dirty sheets, the less then fluffy pillow, it was all here. Was it all... a dream?

She reached up with both hands and ran them down the smooth metal and glass of her head, an oddly soothing motion as the memories came back. The mist, the things... the voice. It was all a dream... all just a dream.

Nodding to herself, she lowered her hands and looked down. She froze, terror gripping her as she saw a small trail of the blue vapor float up from her foot before dissipating into empty air.

Her swords were out and at the ready before she think and she sat there, head whipping from side to side as she wait for one of those things to jump her.

A minute passed, but nothing happen.

Hesitantly, she sheathed her blades and made to get up when to dawned on her: Her arm didn't hurt any more.

Still rather cautious, remembering the agony from before, she stood and slowly lifted the limb over her head, stretching the mechanisms to their limits. She felt nothing.

Elated, she drew her sword again and swung it through the air. It was a smooth motion, effortless and powerful. Hell, it felt like her arm was brand new. Not even the repairs and overhauls Mako had done on her could compare to what she felt now.

Giving out a quiet "hiya!" she lunged, stabbing into an invisible enemy and heard a loud crunch as her foot landed on something. She looked down and winced. There, by her feet, was a pile of neatly organized tools. Well, was a pile. They were scattered over the floor now and something that looked like a welder was doing a very good chunky pancake impression. She hoped that Crimson wouldn't be too upset over it's destruction.

Come to think of it, he did a very good job fixing her. She downright refused to think that those thing the dream had anything to do with it. And asking for her help? Those thing must have been crazy, along with being creepy as hell... if they were even real and not just a figment of her imagination.

Casting those thoughts from her mind and giving her arms one final stretch, she headed for the door. Before she could lay a hand on the switch however, it opened, revealing the three armed form of Crimson Typhoon. His glowing eye instantly locked onto her and brightened in shock.

"W-what?" the weak, confused word slipped past his speakers as he blinked over and over again.

"Hi," she replied cheerfully, giving a small wave.

"B-but," the Jaeger stammered. "Y-you were there... and then..."

Whatever he said next was lost in a rumble like that of a stampede of wild buffalo, followed by a loud grunt from Crimson as he was shoved out of the way before Gipsy found herself being crushed by two green arms wrapped around her middle in a Russian bear hug.

"Hey... Cherno," she gasped out around the crushing grip of the Mark I. "Can't... breath..."

"Ya' don't need to breath, idiot!" came Striker's familiar voice from behind the green giant.

Still, Cherno got the message and released her, warbling worriedly as her vents sucked in air like a whale.

"What?" Crimson repeated as he lay on the floor, the results of Cherno's shove, and stared up at Gipsy with a look of utter bewilderment. "...What?"

She returned his stare. "What's what?" she asked.

"What?"

She blinked. "Uh, what? Is there something on my face?"

"What?"

It was then she noticed the rather glazed look in his eye and the way his head twitched from side to side.

"Um." She glanced at Cherno, pointing at the downed Jaeger. "Is he alright?"

"What?" Crimson repeated, furthering her concern.

Cherno shrugged as Striker strolled around the Russian's bulk and approached Crimson from behind.

"Uh, Striker, what are you doing?" Gipsy asked as she saw him raise his fist over the one eyed cranium.

"PTR," Striker replied casually as he prepared to bring it down.

"What?" Crimson droned on, oblivious.

Cherno rumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at the Australian.

"Well it worked last time, and don't give me that look, you know it did!" And before they could stop him, brought his fist down with a resounding clang onto the top of Crimson's head. The hydraulics supporting Crimson's head compressed inward, absorbing the blow and his arms instantly reached up to massage the dented metal.

"Ow," the strangled gasped left his speakers. Then he shook his head and rose to his feet.

"See," Striker grinned, "he's looking better already."

A hand lashed out and slapped him across the visor sending him reeling back and letting out a stream of curses.

"What'd you do that for?!" he shouted, round on Crimson.

"You know what," the red Jaeger growled, rubbing his head. "Now, do you think we can stop being idiots and figure out..." His eye landed on Gipsy again and he froze.

"Again?" Striker asked gleefully raising his fist.

Cherno growled deep in his frame and Striker lowered it with a grumble. Meanwhile Crimson was still staring, eye bright as he gaped at her.

"Uh, Crimson?" Gipsy asked, shifting on her feet. "Are... you okay?"

"Um." He blinked and shook his head, like a dog drying itself. "Yes, but..." He stopped, noticing that she was using her arm without trouble.

"B-but... how?" He stepped forward, gently taking her arm and lifting it, exposing her joint and examined it with a careful eye. After twisting it every which way to make sure nothing was snapped he let go, taking a careful step back.

"I-I don't understand," he stammered. "I didn't... how did you..."

He looked her square in the visor, eye filled with bewilderment and, strangely enough, relief. "When... _how_ did you fix yourself?"

"Me?" she replied, pushing the black shapeless forms out of her mind. "I didn't do a thing. You, on the other hand..." She flexed her arm. "...did awesome. It feels better then new!"

The three males glanced at each other and Gipsy got the feeling there was something they weren't telling her.

"But," Crimson said slowly, looking back to her. "I... didn't do anything."

"What? Sure you did," she insisted, apprehension trickling in as she pointed at her shoulder. "I mean, how else would this happen? You really don't give yourself enough credit because..."

"Gipsy," Crimson interrupted, reaching out and grasping her arms. She shivered involuntarily at his touch. It was too much like the thing in her dream. "I... I couldn't do anything."

She paused, a familiar fear growing inside her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"You disappeared," he said. "I had left the room to talk to the others and when I came back you weren't there. Gone. Poof. Dropped off the face of the earth." He thought about it a moment. "Or the galaxy, but that doesn't matter. Point is, you _vanished_."

She stiffened on hearing his words. "Vanished? W-what do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said, Gipsy. You disappeared. We didn't know where you were and... some of us..." he looked at Cherno who warbled sadly. "...we... thought you might have... died."

"Died?" she repeated, the pit in her core tunnelling down to the bottom of Omega.

"In our defence we still don't know anything about us, why we're like this and we thought... we thought that..." He shook his head. "But you didn't, thank goodness, but... we couldn't find you. For two hours you were missing. _Two_ full hours after we brought you in you were gone!"

She stared at him, unwilling to believe him as the things from before slithered into her mind, their words echoing around her: "_**You owe it to us.**_"

"B-but," she stammered, fighting to keep her fear from showing as she gestured to her arm. "How did _this_ happen?"

"I don't know," he replied." Are you _sure_ you didn't do it yourself?"

"No," she said, voice just a little higher out of the growing panic inside her.

"Ah lay off her," Striker said, appearing in between them and pushing Crimson away. "She's here now, she fine and she didn't have to lose anything."

"Can we not talk about that," Crimson growled at him.

"What's this about me loosing something?" Gipsy asked, welcoming the change of subject, anything to get her mind off of those things.

"Well," Crimson said hesitantly, removing his hands from her arms and taking a step back. "Welllll..."

"He said he couldn't fix you so he wanted to cut off your arm and leave you with a painless stump," Striker cut in.

Crimson was about to look back and _reprimand_ the Australian when a strange grating sound filled the silence. They all looked to Gipsy to see the turbine in the middle of her chest slowly grind to a halt, behind it though, the hellish glow only seemed to grow brighter.

Unconsciously the three males took a careful step backward, even Striker, who wasn't feeling too bright about his plan right now.

They had yet to clear the, soon to be called, blastzone, when Gipsy screamed, loud enough that the other residents of the complex could hear her quiet plainly; "WHAT DO YOU MEAN CUT IT OFF?!"

-Linebreak-

Harven Tralanus was a Turian, inducted into the military at fifteen and served another honourable fifteen years before he left and pursued his true passion, one of a shrewd businessmen. Even in the barrack at sixteen he was investing his pay in profitable enterprises and when he left was sitting on a rather large account that few coming out of the army could hope for. Now he was the honourable ambassador of Volvan Colonial Supplies, a Turian based company on the matters of colonization. Their products focused less on the comfortable aspects of colonial life and instead on the practical and militaristic. In fact they made the most off of the Turian military who used their basic prefab modules as mobile command centers during exercises and major operations, such was their reliability in combat. Now, it was Harven's fifteen years of military discipline that kept him from fidgeting in front of the armed guard that held him in it's steely gaze.

The guard, a large Krogan clad in grey armor with the symbol of a thrasher maw paint on it's shoulder in red, stood as still as a statue. It's bare head was the perfect picture of serenity on a killing machine. It was no comfort, however, to the four Turian guards Harven had brought with him. They surrounded him a defensive formation, scanning around for threats. It was Omega after all.

As it was, any sane businessmen would never dream of coming her under any circumstances, but these were hardly normal circumstances.

It had started a few days ago during an investigation of the major shareholders, spearheaded by a Spector of all people, into the connection between them and a bombing by Turian separatists on a colony world. The investigation came up with nothing on them but did uncover a worrying corporate piece of information.

All throughout the company's life it had been backed by a mysterious shareholder known only as Mister Titanus. Since the time of it's conception decades ago, the company had been supported by this Titanus at all times, urging their focus towards battlefield prefabs with ludicrously large investments. He was the unchallenged majority shareholder for ninety years running and in all that time had never been seen in person.

While the investigation was underway the company had been forced to look into Titanus' investor contract and realized that something was missing: An Off World Credit Legitimacy Agreement.

Having contracts with the Turian military, the company was hereby responsible for the credits it took in from investors and insuring their authenticity. Meaning they weren't being stolen from some big bank or organization on a different world and fed to Volvan. If that happened then the party in question could hold Volvan responsible for their stolen money. And the military, naturally wanting nothing to do with thieves, would publicly denounce their relationship with the company and say they were innocent in the whole thing, claiming to be a victim of the company's lies of credit authenticity. The backlash would kill the whole organization. Therefore representatives of the company had go forth and find out if their investor's money was coming from legitimate sources and get them to sign the OWCLA.

Most of the time this was, as the humans said, a piece of cake. The investigation might take as little as a quick visit and signature with the agreement itself needing to be renewed every year. But in the case of Mister Titanus things were a bit more complicated. Since he'd been a shareholder from before Volvan had military contracts he never had to agree to the OWCLA due to it's early lack of ties with the army.

During the Spector's investigation they realized he hadn't signed in fifty years, more then enough time for billions of credits to go missing if his investments were anything to go by. Naturally the Spector found this, but instead of ratting them out for illegitimacy intake of funds gave them a month to investigate and get the papers signed.

Everyone was nervous upon contacting him, for fear of angering this, apparently, rich as hell person and losing him as an investor. Not to mention he'd only contacted them through written messages so no one had ever seen his face, let alone heard his voice. They were surprised when he agreed wholeheartedly to signing the papers, but he was less then happy to have to sign them in person to insure that this _was_ the investor and not a lying proxy. So, after a few days of no contact he called them up and said he'd do it. They asked for his location and he gave them the least expected place of all; the biggest shit hole in the galaxy: Omega.

Unfortunately for him, Harven was chosen to go, having the most experience in dealing with the signing of the OWCLA with reluctant individuals.

Naturally he was giving some guards, supplied by the Turian military, along a company shuttle and headed off the rusting station. Upon getting there they were contacted by a Krogan who called him out by name and said to head for a hanger near the lower levels. It put them on edge, the lower levels being the primary territory of the Blood Pack. When asked why they shouldn't dock in the upper levels the Krogan replied "it would shorten their journey." So, against their better judgement, they followed his instructions and landed without trouble. When they left their flying haven, they were confronted by two squads of heavily armed Krogan soldiers. He used the term _soldiers_ because there was nothing else to describe them. Their grey armor and weapons were all uniform and clean, and they operated with a cohesiveness born of vigorous training and discipline.

The leader of the grouped ordered one squad to stay behind and guard their shuttle while the rest led Harven and his team deeper into Omega. During their trip they passed dozens of Blood Pack, Vorcha and Krogan, but none dared attack. All they did was hiss and growl at them. Surprisingly, their Krogan escorts didn't react. No roaring back or even threatening heft of their guns, only walking forward with measured steps and firm grips on their weapons. While he was happy with the extra security, the guards themselves unnerved him. Since when were these brutes so organized and calm.

Before long their trip took them out of Blood Pack territory and into a clear section of station before they arrived at one of the apartment complexes in the lower levels. Upon entering, he had to stop and ask himself if he was seeing things. The place was... clean.

The lobby that they were currently standing in was scrubbed down and painted a dull white, making it look like the lobby to some second rate hospital. Instead of chairs and side tables the room was filled with plates of deployable cover that would spring up from the ground, large enough to hide a fully grown Krogan behind them. On the wall, beside a closed door leading deeper into the complex was a large, brand new medical dispenser with the symbol of the Sirta Foundation etched on it's front, furthering Harven's unease. Where did they get it, and in such good condition too?

Their Krogan escorts had stayed outside, opening the front door and telling them to wait in the lobby, leaving them to explore their surroundings without hindrance. Not that there was much to look at in the first place.

"I don't like this," the Turian Sargent sidled up to him and whispered in his ear. "Something's not right here."

The rest of the guards all nodded in agreement, still gathered around him and never letting their guard down.

"I have to agree," Harven whispered back.

"So where is this Mister Titanus of yours?"

"I don't know."

They stood in silence for another minute before the front door opened and two more Krogan in pitch black armor stalked in, dragging two corpses behind them. The Turians all shrank back as the two glared at them, dropping the bodies in the middle of the room.

As if by some signal, the second door opened and another Krogan stepped out. Harven quickly determined it must be an officer of some kind, wearing the same grey armor, only with a red stripe across his chest. His head was bare and on his red head plate was painted 'G-4T.'

The Krogan regarded Harven for a moment before stepping up to his brethren in black. "Report," he said stiffly.

The two removed their helmets, reviling scared faces and 'G-3' on their grey head plates. "Investigation complete, sir," one said, "we found no trail back. The twerps covered their tracks good." He nodded back to the bodies. "G-2. All armor, weapons and equipment stolen."

"Where did you find them," the officer asked.

"We didn't. They fell through the chutes and ended up in the Chop Shop."

The officer didn't react, only stepped around them to flip the dead Krogan on it's back. As he did so, Harven couldn't but wince. He hadn't fought Krogan before but he knew what they were capable of. So to think that there was something out there that could do _that_ was scary.

The dead Krogan's head was squished back into it's hump, as if a tank had landed on it. It's arm was broken and had three extra joints so that it bent like a lightning bolt across the floor.

He didn't even need the officer to flip the other body to see it's cause of death. Four holes were showing from it's bare back, evidence of a knife of some kind. Only thing was that they must have been huge, almost longer his arm. The holes were also... cauterized? What kind of knife could do that?

The officer stood, silently staring at the bodies, the two others standing beside him. "Do you know who did this?" he said at last with no emotion, rage or otherwise.

The two glanced at each other before one answered. "The Jaegers."

That seemed to surprise him, for he turned quiet suddenly at stare at them. "Jaegers?"

"A new group Aria found. Tough sons of bitches. They took out the upper checkpoint with their bare hands in less then a minute."

"They did what?"

Now not only the officer was curious. Harven could tell his guards were listening in with rapt attention. But, unfortunately, nothing was was forthcoming.

The officer shook his head. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

The two shrugged. "It's not our place to know, sir."

The officer glared at them before gesturing at the bodies. "Get them out of here," he ordered.

Nodding, the two black armored Krogan took the bodies by the arms and started dragging them across the room and towards the door leading deeper into the complex. Harven was so busy watching them he never noticed the officer approaching until he was right in his face.

"Who are you?" the Krogan growled.

"U-uh," Harven stammered before composing himself and replying, "Harven Tralanus, representative of Volvan Colonial Supplies. I was told I would be meeting with Mister Titanus to sign the OWCLA."

The Krogan regarded him coldly for a moment before motioning with a hand. "Follow me."

With that, he turned and headed for the door, leaving Harven and his guards to hurry after him.

As they passed through the door, the sense of unease only grew inside him. The hallways beyond were painted white and smelled of disinfectant. Doors were spaced on either side at regular intervals and through the few that were open he could see rows of bunks against the walls. A barracks, he realized, this was all one giant barracks.

Suddenly he wasn't so worried about not getting the OWCLA signed, he just wanted to get out. Before he could they reached an elevator at the far end of hallway and soon they were heading upward. They stopped on the tenth floor and the Krogan led them through more bleached corridors before stopping at a closed door.

"Your guards will have to wait outside," the Krogan said and opened the door, standing aside to Harven in.

Against his better judgement, Harven stepped inside, the door closing behind them as the Krogan followed him in.

The room was, as he expected, white with a large desk with neatly organized piles of datapads resting on it's surface. But sitting behind it was the biggest Krogan Harven had ever seen. Even sitting on his chair he still reached almost seven feet tall. His grey armor was scarred and full of bullet holes but looked freshly repaired and polished. His bare head was heavily wrinkled with age, even for a Krogan. His head plate appeared to have been torn off, replaced a thick, molded piece of metal that was grafted into his skull, crafted in such a way you couldn't tell the difference between metal or bone unless you looked close enough.

Standing on the right side of the massive beast was another Krogan, clad in pitch black armor with the familiar symbol on his chest. The thing that really drew Harven's attention however was the fact that he was... well, small. Coming up at barely six feet the Krogan was thin, but his limbs seemed to hide an unnatural strength inside them. A deep scar ran over his left eye and up onto his grey headplate and the eye itself was bleached white. Despite the battle scar the Krogan looked... young. If Harven had to make a guess he would have put his age at barely over two centuries.

He had little time to look at anything else however, for the monster of a Krogan straightened in his chair and spoke. "Greetings. You are Harven Tralanus, yes?"

Harven had keep himself from gaping. His voice was so different then what had expected. It was smooth like old leather and had no trace of the guttural growling that all Krogan seemed to possess. If he didn't know better he would have thought the Krogan had gone to all the finest speech courses on Thessia, Palaven and the Citadel.

He nodded mutely as his guide stepped around him to stand to the left of the Krogan.

The Krogan smiled, not unkindly but comforting either. "Good. You're one of the more punctual representatives I've had to meet with over the past month."

"O-other representatives?" he asked, nervously.

"Volvan is hardly the only company I have invested into."

"I see. Sorry for that, Mister Titanus."

The black armored Krogan snorted, a humourless grin tugging at his lips.

"Forgive my friend here," Titanus sighed, motioning over to the Krogan. "Krual is not as patient in these matters as I am."

The grin dropped from Krual's lips as fast as it had appeared.

"A-alright," Harven said, taking a breath. "As you have never signed the OWCLA I will go over..."

"Please," Titanus interrupted, raising a hand. "I have studied the regulations when I first got your message and, giving it's length, I can only guess that you are no more excited about explaining them then I am of hearing them. Again."

He was right. Harven really didn't want to go over the whole one hundred and fifty page booklet with a possibly volatile Krogan. But Titanus was so.. different, far from the warmongering brute's he knew Krogan as. Still, he could have been lying about it, if only to save some time.

He swallowed. "I'm afraid that, due to many investors not being truthful about that, I must..."

"Page sixty seven paragraph three line five: All investments of the major shareholders exceeding fifty thousand must be sent through secured bank transaction channels or solid chit. Both to prevent syphoning and/or contamination of credits from a third party," Titanus said, as if repeating the agreement word for word.

It took Harven a minute to check his omni-tool and look it up and found that he was correct. It was all there just as he had said.

"Alright," he said, shutting off his omni-tool."Do you have the necessary documents?"

Titanus motioned towards a single datapad resting on his desk and Harven picked it up.

Everything was here and perfectly organized. The records of all the yearly investments to Volvan were all laid out plainly and their numbers fit the ones he had down to the last decimal. Where the credits had come from however, Harven couldn't help but raise an eyeridge in surprise. Returning investment payments from the Sirta Foundation and at least a dozen other small companies he didn't recognize. Even some of the last return from Volvan was mixed in.

As he scrolled down on the pad, he saw the investments from the last thirty years laid out before him, and all of them either from returning payments or from a private account simply labelled 'Fiances.' More importantly, everything was easy to check. After a few taps on his omni-tool he confirmed all the returning payments were legitimate.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said slowly before opening his omni-tool and waving it over the pad. The screen went blank as he sent it a new file. On it's clear surface an official document appeared with a line near the bottom. He handed it back to Titanus. "Please sign on the line."

The massive Krogan shifted in his seat as picked it up. He stared at it for a moment, reading the text before pulling a stylus from under the desk and signing.

Harven's omni-tool beeped as the document was recalled into the device. "And that concludes the OWCLA," he said.

"I see," Titanus murmured. "But before you go I would like to talk about something else."

"Oh?"

"Not only am I an investor but a buyer as well. Just recently I ordered in a large amount of your industrial patterned prefabs and I was hope you could increase the speed of delivery. You see my... primary system of transport has fallen under some hard times and could no longer meet my expectations. Normally I would hire someone else to make the pickup, but, as you are aware, this is Omega, and honest transport is hard to find."

"Um," Harven sighed nervously. "I am... not responsible for the transport of product, sir."

"I am aware of that. However, my investment name and my order form name are two different things, an earlier decision I now regret. But just recently I received word from your company that the delivery of my order was being lowered in priority. I don't know the reasons why but I am in need of those prefabs."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do anything about it," Harven said, taking a step back, fearful of retribution.

"I understand," Titanus replied, in tone so sincere you couldn't help but believe him. "But what I really need you to do is to give this to the quartermaster of your stockyards." He activated his omni-tool and Harven's beeped as something was sent.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at the secured datapacket.

"An express delivery payment. All legal under your terms of service."

Before Harven could say anything else Titanus waved a hand. "We're done here. An escort is waiting outside and will lead you and your guards back to your shuttle."

-Linebreak-

"That is possibly the dumbest thing I've seen you do in the past four years," Krual snorted, his voice deep and guttural as the door shut behind the Turian. "If he wasn't freaked out before he certainly is now."

"Of what?" Titanus asked, picking up a pad from the desk and looking at it.

"Oh please. If any Turian worth his quad had a good look at us he would run off scream about the Krogan rebellions."

"Your point?"

"My point?! My point is that you let five, now fully paranoid Turian soldiers into our headquarters and let them have a good look around. We'll be lucky if we don't have the Hierarchy at our throats within the week."

"While I'm aware of that possibility I doubt it would be that soon. To both their eyes and Aria's we are still small. The loss of merc group territory will hardly concern her. But it doesn't change the fact that we need those prefabs. If Okeer and his group calculated correctly we could be receiving twice the number we expected. Without the last shipment from Qill our equipment will be stretched thin."

"Exactly how many again?"

Titanus hummed in his throat as he glanced at the pad again. "Six thousand, plus another thirty blank Templates."

Despite the large numbers, Krual scowled. "Six thousand. And I get twenty percent of them?"

"Correct."

The short Krogan growled and moved to stand before the desk before continuing. "I can't take twenty percent. My training sargents are already taxed to the limits readying the last batch you sent me. They may be the best of the G-2Ts but there's only so many they can teach effectively before it becomes flash training. It doesn't help much that I lost two of my best on an inspection of the drop off point."

This actually seemed to surprise him, not so much the officer to his left.

"When did this happen?" Titanus asked, tossing the pad away.

"Less then a day ago. According to their last transmission they watched the checkpoint get raided and followed the attackers back to their HQ. I told them to standby and wait for me, but they were discovered before I could get there. Then their transponders cut out and left me in the markets. It did give me an excellent view of their killers, however."

Titanus raised an eyeridge. "And who where they?"

"Some group of metal freaks Aria put together. You heard of those four mechs that flattened Warlord Velc?"

"Of the Blood Pack? Of course, who hasn't? Beaten by the Jaegers, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Those four raided the checkpoint with a group of strays then killed two of my best men."

"And you let them get away?" Titanus asked with a grin. "That's not very like you, Krual."

"I'm _patient_, not stupid. Besides, they took the skycar system. It would take days to track em' through there."

"I see... Do you think they'll be a problem?"

"Defiantly."

Titanus hummed deep in his throat, scratching his chin with an armored fist. It was only because of first hand experience that Krual noticed the cunning gleam in his eyes. He'd once said that Titanus would've made an excellent politician, almost on par with that human; Udina.

"Very well," Titanus said, rising from his chair with a grunt, reaching a monstrous height of ten and a half feet. "They may be a problem, but for now I only want recon. Find out where they're based, who they are and what they are. No engagement unless attacked first. Understood?"

Krual's nostrils flared. "Recon? These things just killed two of my men..."

"And they will continue to do so if you insist on throwing bodies at them," Titanus interrupted. "You say they're new here? Perhaps we can use that to our advantage."

"How?" Krual snorted.

"I talked Okeer into this venture, didn't I?"

"Yeah, because he's nearly as batshit insane as you."

"Great minds think alike," Titanus said. "But back to the point: You say twenty percent is too many?"

"Yeah."

"Hmmm... I can cut that down to ten percent, but..."

"Five," Krual interrupted. "Or better yet, three. I don't have enough equipment to cover them all."

"Neither do I," Titanus muttered, for the first time a scowl crossing his face. "Then there is really only one thing we can do. Send word to the Chop Shop, I want production increased by ten fold. Okeer's next batch comes in a few days, I want weapons and armor on all of them in three." He pointed at Krual.

"I want you to go to the slave markets and pick up as many able-bodied ones as you can. With the prefabs coming in we can expect an increase in production."

"Fine," the short Krogan nodded, before turning and leaving the office.

Now alone with the officer, Titanus turned to the smaller Krogan and adopted a more college professor like air.

"Alright," he said. "Having taken your observations what can you tell me?"

The officer scowled, his mind turning inward. "I see... a possible threat from the Hierarchy, not now but later. Once Omega has ours we'll have to watch our boarders."

"Yes," Titanus nodded approvingly.

"However, I also see a more immediate threat in these Jaegers, more then you suspect."

"Oh?" Titanus raised an eyeridge. "Explain."

"You are aware of what they are, correct?"

"I've heard the theories, and the primary one is that they're advanced Geth units based off of humans."

"They could be wrong, but if they are Geth then when we start advancing they might believe us a threat to them as well. My reasoning being that the Geth weren't around for the rebellions but they would know about them and the threat we made to galaxy as a whole. They may come to assist our enemies, if only for their own survival."

A smile crossed Titanus' features and he grasped the officer by the shoulder. "Now there's something I never considered. You take your lessons seriously."

"To fight in ignorance is the true downfall of the mighty," the officer replied, quoting Titanus on his own words.

Titanus' smile only grew wider. "Very good. You have been taught by the finest in tactical warfare, but that comes secondary to your most important attribute. You _see _things. Any general can come up with a war wining strategy, but if he can't look beyond his own army to see all his enemies, their strengths and their weaknesses, he is doomed to fail. It appears that you can look beyond even that to see things that most would consider trivial but what you consider vital. You're correct. The Geth may be a problem in the future, maybe even sooner then we expected. And for that, I believe you deserve a name. So tell me, tankbred, what name will you carve across the galaxy under the banner of the Rising Maws?"

The officer looked down, contemplating his options. He stayed like that for a full minute before lifting his head and looking Titanus in the eye.

"My name is Xran," he said.

"An odd name. Why?"

"Because it doesn't fit Krogan tradition, to have a strong name. It is new, unfamiliar, like us. A new breed of Krogan."

"Fitting," Titanus' smile adopted a more serious tone as he stepped back. "Congratulations Commander Xran, you are hereby eligible to assume your post as third in command of the Rising Maws based on Omega. May your enemies tremble before you and your mind stay sharp."

Xran slowly straightened, before saluting with a hand on his chest. "Thank you, General Titanus."

"Well, now that it's done with onto business," Titanus said, reaching over and plucking another pad from the desk.

"Your new mission," he explained, handing it to Xran. "Operation; Omega of Omega. You have two days to complete Phase 1 and make a full report. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

* * *

**Okay, I admit it has taken me way to long to update this. Life has been hitting me hard and fast and I have little time to keep up. I got accepted into college a while ago and started only two weeks, and in that time already had a test with two more next week. So yeah, my life has been pretty hectic. But now chapter nine his here and with it, I imagine, some disappointment for some of you. Based on the reviews I got on the last chapter some of you were expecting some big reveal to who or what brought them to Omega. Again, like with Shepard, it won't be for a while. I have it planed out to be this long story line that coincides with their time with Shepard and that will lead into the mass effect 3. Truth be told, I was thinking about adding it into this Rising Maw story line, but then started to realize it would be too much to handle juggling two very important story lines. It is all to make this easier for me to write, so I don't want to quit and to save the best parts for last, again, to make me want to write more and to keep it interesting for you.  
**

**So yeah, only small hints for now until I really kick off the story.**

**As for the Rising Maw thing... I may have over thought it a little. See I want it to end as soon as possible so we can get to the main mass effect story line, but I underestimated how big of an undertaking it would be. While I haven't updated in a while my fingers haven't been idle, and in my free time I have written up to The Rising Maw part 8. So yeah, I might take a while to get this done with, but so far as I know, updates are going to be coming regularly for the next month so long as they pass final inspection.  
**

**See you next week, DJ out!**

**(No own Pacific Rim or Mass effect.)**


	10. The Rising Maw Part 4

If anyone asked Crimson if whether he would rather face a Kaiju or an angry female Jaeger he'd say he'd take the Kaiju any day.

Gipsy did _not_ take the news he was going to cut off her arm very well. Not. At. All.

Following Striker's unwanted confession of their plan about what to do with her, Gipsy had practically exploded. Crimson swore he could see her visor flash red for a moment before she charged them with her swords. After that it had all been one mad chase around the apartment with Gipsy screaming at the top of her speakers about what she was going to do to them.

It wasn't at all like the brotherhood squabbles he remembered the Weis having, chasing each other with form swords and saying that they'd cut each others head off. No. This was a _Jaeger,_ with a _real_ sword saying she'd shove it up his ass so far it would come up his throat. And even worse, she _could_ do it if she really tried, and for half sensible reasons too. In fact, if it had been him in the same situation he'd probably be mad about losing an arm too.

But it wasn't him, and Gipsy, when she was mad, was terrifying.

It suddenly occurred to him that he'd never seen Cherno move that fast before... Come to think about it, why was she chasing Cherno? He had nothing to do with it other then stand to the side and offer support.

Or maybe Gipsy was so scary he'd just been scared into running along with them and not risk her wrath by standing still. When he thought about it, he hadn't really heard any threats directed towards the Russian. They were mostly towards him, all related to cutting off her arm along with other things he didn't catch. There were a few directed at Striker, mostly about him being an ass but also about reviling the dreaded news in the first place.

They had tried to reason with her, but then she started to catch up to them and they forgot about it in favor of keeping ahead of the raging death machine.

Eventually they managed to make it into the bathroom and lock the door, leaving Gipsy to pound on it while they huddled in the shower. It was then Crimson was thankful that Gipsy wasn't as technology acute as he was, at least, not enough to hack the door. After a good hour of screaming, the noises behind the locked door quieted down before disappearing all together. It was another half hour before they worked up the courage to take a peek outside.

She was lying on the broken couch, visor dark and turbine thrumming peacefully as she slept off the rage.

Rather then stay and risk her waking up still in a bad mood they decided to take a quick walk around Omega and wait for her to wake up and confirm she wasn't going to rip their arms off. As they had descended deeper into the station they unconsciously split up, content to go their own way and be with no one else but their thoughts.

As he walked alone down one of Omega's rusting hallways, Crimson couldn't help but admit to himself that Gipsy's sudden disappearance and, even more sudden, reappearance had forced him to reevaluate what he thought about... well, everything.

Ever since they'd woken up on Omega he'd been familiar with death. He'd felt the lives of the Wei triplets through the Drift as they slipped away. At the time it had been the most traumatic experience in his short life but... somehow he'd come to terms with it. They were gone and, sadly, nothing was going to change that. He missed them, yes, but he accepted it. His mind was always set solidly in the present and looking to the future. He was careful to make sure that his... yes, his brothers and sister were kept safe. It felt only right to call them that. If not siblings by blood... or oil, but brothers and sister in arms. By all due rights they'd been through hell together and even though they'd only been awake for less then two weeks he felt a deep bond to all of them. He wanted to make sure they were alright, that they could keep on living on.

When Gipsy had been injured... it was like his whole world came crashing down. When she first screamed he didn't hear her, he'd heard the Weis screaming as they were crushed in his conn-pod. In that moment he was so scared that she too might slip away into that darkness that was always there in the corner of his mind. It was where the Weis had gone when they slipped away, falling into that blackness of which there was no escape.

He felt so hopeless as he helped her back to the apartment, and when he tried to fix her the hopelessness seemed to swallow him. He knew that nothing he could do would help, and it made the decision to cut it off all the more difficult. Lose her going mad with pain, or fade away with the loss of her arm.

And when she vanished... his core nearly stopped. He'd been so afraid that she'd gone, just... drifted away into that darkness, both body and mind together.

Though they didn't show it, he could tell Striker and Cherno thought the same: That they had just lost their sister.

Then she came back, and his core nearly stopped again, this time out of shock.

What on earth had happened?

Sure he was happy, overjoyed even, to have her back but... how? She had been missing for two hours and then, miraculous, came back fully repaired. How that was even possible Crimson didn't know. But if there was one thing he was sure of it was Gipsy hadn't told them everything.

He could hear it in her voice, she was hiding something. But more then that, he noticed... something coming off of her. The others hadn't been close enough to see it, but when she moved thin trails of a bluish gas would leak from her joints before dissipating into the air. He'd been more worried about her at the time and never cared to mention it, but now it all came back.

Then he realized he'd seen it before. When he'd been trying to fix her before she vanished, he could see it leaking out with the coolant.

What was it?

It suddenly occurred to him just how little they knew about themselves. More then the obvious question of how they were alive, but how did they keep on functioning? They were Jaegers, sure, but in his time with the Weis he'd never heard of a Jaeger that remained active for more then two days without needed to return to their Shatterdome for repairs of some kind. Here they'd been walking for almost two weeks and he felt just as good as when he'd first woken up, if a little strained and tired. But still, two weeks? He wasn't complaining or anything, but something in their bodies would have snapped by now.

Again he thought back to the tools he'd gotten when they first arrived and sighed at his own naivety. Nothing he'd gotten could help them, that was what he, or rather Gipsy, had to learn that the hard way.

It sparked a new urge in his mind. To learn about themselves, to see what made them tick and how to repair them when the time came. Though Gipsy had made both a mysterious and miraculous recovery, he didn't want to leave something like that to fate again.

In that light, and after he'd scanned the extranet, he decided to get his hands on one of those full body medical scanners, one that could get through their thick armor. That idea was crushed, however, when he read the specs given by a hospital. You needed to be in one of those patient gowns without any metal or else it would screw up the readings. That went for all the medical scanners he searched for. None of them would work on a Jaeger.

He groaned as he thought about it, kicking at a random piece of trash in the street. This was harder then that time the young Wei triplets tried to get on a plane. They had wanted to bring their toy guns on a vacation to Hawaii, toy guns that just happened to full metal. Where they'd gotten them Crimson had no idea, neither did the luggage scanners that found them in their bags. One explanation and two SWAT teams later the entire situation was explained and then...

His eye brightened. He had it! Doubtless technology would have advanced since 2024 so cargo scanners would have too. The kind that they had at docks and shipyards of the old water base craft, now they would have the same thing for the space faring craft of the future to see through the alloys that made up the standard shipping crates of today. If he could get his hands on a real powerful one that could get through their armor he'd well on his way to understanding their biology.

Now all he had to do was find one.

He reached to activate his omni-tool when he looked up and realized he was just outside the door to the GI-7's headquarters. The inconspicuous warehouse hadn't changed since last he'd been here.

Giving a mental shrug, he walked up and waved his omni-tool over the door switch, the password Kriln had sent them working it's magic and unlocking the entrance. He didn't have much else to do, and maybe one of them could help him with finding one of those cargo scanners.

He quickly stepped inside and headed down to the briefing room. As the door opened he found himself staring down the barrel of a Vindicator assault rifle with a glowering Turian looking down the sights.

"Jaeger?" Kriln asked, surprised, lowering the rifle slightly.

"Kriln," Crimson replied, noticing his arms had unconsciously transformed into their buzzsaw form. "What's with the gun?"

"Oh," the Turian said, shifting his weapon into it's compact form before stowing it on his back. "Just a precaution. We got the door wired to a silent alarm after you left. It's keyed to our IDs but we forgot to get you four signed in."

"Aren't you afraid this place will get hit again?" Crimson asked, putting away his saws.

"Not really. Since that first attack we've got nothing else sent our way, so it could be safe to say they didn't get our location out to their buddies."

"And you're really taking that chance?"

"Hey, I'm still alive aren't I?"

"True."

"Yeah," Kriln nodded, crossing his arms. They stood in awkward silence for a moment before he cleared his throat. "So, what are you doing here?"

At that, Crimson sighed. "Can I ask you a question first?"

The Turian shrugged. "I guess."

"Do your females ever try to kill you when you do something... well, against them? Something they don't appreciate?"

Kriln raised an eyeridge in surprise. "They could... if you get them angry enough. They got the training to make it happen and a strange phenomenon known as feminine rage to back it up. They can calm down though, giving enough time. Why?"

Crimson sighed, stepping forward and resting all three of his hands on the table. "Let's just say I did something I shouldn't have and now Gipsy is out to turn me into scrap."

The eyeridges narrowed. "Gipsy? Which one of you is she again?"

"The one with the turbine."

"Oh. And you are?"

Crimson looked up at him, incredulous. "You mean we never told you our names?"

"No."

"Oh. Well you can call me Crimson, I guess."

"Well then, Crimson, what are you doing here? Just trying to escape?

"You could say that." Crimson groaned. "I don't what Turian females are like but if you saw one of them running at you with a sword and saying she'd shove it up your rear would you run?"

Kriln winced. "Well, I don't envy your situation if it's any comfort."

"It's not, but thanks anyway."

"So just to clarify things you're here to hide until she calms down?"

"Partially," Crimson said, pushing off the table. "You see, while I was... fixing her, I came across an unusual... anomaly in her systems. I'd like to see what it is but I don't want to cut her open to do so, she really _would_ melt me into slag if I did that. So I was looking for a cargo scanner of some kind. You know, the kind that can scan through thick crates and things like that."

"Speaking of your friend how is she?"

Crimson stared at him, incredulously. "She tried to _kill_ me. How do you think she's doing?"

"Right, dumb question," Kriln said before scratching his jaw. "As for the scanner... Hmm... You know, I have a friend, well, not really a friend, an old employer who owes me a few favors. He runs an auction house down below and is paranoid about the things he takes in. He has these scanners, the ones I think you're looking for, just so can make sure it is what they say it is. Just recently he got his hands on some new used ones but is keeping the old ones in storage, probably hoping to resell them. I could get one for you, if you want?"

Crimson's eye brightened in surprise. "You'd do that for us?"

"You are the reason I'm still alive," Kriln replied with a small smile. "If we had gone against that outpost by ourselves without you and your friends we'd been torn apart. To me, this is just a good investment to make sure we stay above ground."

Crimson nodded. "I can understand that. By the way, what are you doing here?"

"I work here," the Turian answered with a grin before dropping it in exchange for a more serious air. "We had a breakthrough with the data we recovered. Apparently the Rising Maws are in the slave market. They payed a group of pirates a lot of money for three, very particular slaves. Phil managed to find their names and we found out they were all weapon and armor makers who were too deep in debt and couldn't make the money. The transaction took place months ago but we got the name of the place where the Maws took them, somewhere called the Chop Shop."

"Does that mean anything to you?" Crimson asked.

"No. It's a fairly common name among the Blood Pack. It could be referencing more then a dozen places on Omega alone. We got Aniya working down in the lower levels trying to identify their command structure and leaders and seeing if she can find this place. Phil is going through the data, getting anything he can and looking for that ID. But Jrel found something very interesting."

From under the table, Kriln pulled out a Krogan helmet and set on the table. It's black finish and yellow eye sockets stared balefully at Crimson as he examined it.

"That's from one of the Krogan that got into our base," Kriln continued. "Jrel went over their equipment and found tactical cloak modules in their armor, along with several different hacking programs in their omni-tools. What's more, judging by how silent they were we and guess that these Krogan had special training. Top it off with their special weapons we can only assume they were infiltrators, if I dare say so."

"Is that unusual?" Crimson asked.

Kriln gave him a funny look. "The only way you couldn't hear a Krogan was if you were deaf. I mean, you've seen how big they are. It's almost impossible for them to move without making some kind of noise."

"You said _almost_ impossible," Crimson pointed out.

"Well, I have met a few that could take five steps without bursting out into song. But he found something else." Kriln said, giving the helmet on the table a tap. "All armor that comes from the big companies has a special tracking code so it can be identified. We couldn't find any on these, same with the Revenent your friend brought back. By the way, we put it back together if you want to take it."

"Thanks. But for the codes, couldn't they just scratch them off?" Crimson asked, leaning in.

"They wouldn't be able to find all of the places where they print them. What's more, the armor was still in good condition. If I had to make a guess I'd say it was less then a month old. Same problem with the serial numbers: as in, none."

"So they ordered them in specialized from somewhere?"

"Don't think so. The manifests didn't say anything about these. Plus, with the cloak modules, getting one of these made custom would cost at least a hundred thousand per suit. No, the Maws couldn't have ordered this in. At least..." he trailed off, scratching his chin before he let out a sigh.

"Damn this gives me a headache," he said, leaning on the table. Then he looked up at Crimson. "You want to come with me and get that scanner you wanted? I need to get some fresh air anyway."

Crimson nodded and Kriln led him out of the warehouse and into the station beyond.

-Linebreak-

Though he would never admit it to anyone, Striker slowly began to realize just how much of an effect Gipsy's disappearance had on him. It was very subtle, slowly creeping into his mind like living slime. He tried to ignore it at first, but soon he couldn't put it away any longer.

He... cared about her.

He slouched as he walked, angry with the fact that his own mind was siding with the enemy.

Sure he cared about her, in the soldierly kind of way. It was something he'd picked up from Herc. You lose someone, you move on, simple as that. He was a soldier, you got used to it over time. At least, that's what he told himself.

When Gipsy had been shot... well, it woke up something in his memories he never wanted to think about. A memory of Herc and Chuck in a helicopter, flying away from an expanding mushroom cloud while Chuck screamed in the back for his mom. He understood what was happening, what the cloud was, and that everyone inside it was already dead.

He would never admit it, but Gipsy's scream... it nearly brought him to the brink of panic. For a single moment he was there, in the back of the chopper, looking back and screaming for her. It was something he never wanted to experience again: That feeling of being helpless, unable to do a thing as your world was blown apart.

His dad, Herc, had been a soldier, and he liked to consider himself the same. They would fight, and, when the time came, they would die. It was a simple philosophy, and he like it. Simple and to the point. More then that of a soldier, it seemed to fit the life of a Jaeger. They were created for one purpose, to fight Kaiju until their last breath, till their legs were torn to shreds and their heads ripped off.

When they had first woken up, in those first twenty minutes before the realization that they had died settled in, he had been excited. Not like Gipsy, of course, but his excitement had more contained. Admittedly he had thought very little about the future at that point, content to only live in the now. But then Crimson had reminded them all of what it had taken to get there: The deaths of both them and their pilots.

When that happened, he had been thrown back into that instant. Chuck and Pentecost at his controls, priming the bomb with resolve stronger then steel. Then it had gone off and they just... drifted away. There was nothing else to describe it. They had fallen into a black pool in his mind, never to see the light of day again and he was left on the surface, holding on by a thread, watching as their faces vanished into the dark depths.

It had terrified him.

In that moment he wanted to swear it would never happen again, if only so then he wouldn't feel like that again. The thought of being left behind as his friends fell into that blackness... it was worse then the actual dying part. But he knew that promising something like that was foolish, and he'd only feel worse if it ever did come to happen. The feeling of both failure and fear would be too much.

He might have thought of himself as a soldier... but that was just too much.

So, he made a rather selfish decision. He didn't want to get too attached in case they... went away. Gipsy, Cherno, Crimson, yes he considered them as brothers in arms but he just couldn't go deeper. He couldn't bare the thought of losing them as close friends. But lose them as soldiers, people who died in the line of duty, that he could both accept and understand.

The insulting and, as Gipsy so kindly put it; assery, was all just to cover his fear that one day they go and leave him here, alone. He did it so that he could just move on without crippling himself with their deaths... like a soldier would.

When he had heard Gipsy scream he thought, for one terrifying moment, that she had... died. His relief on learning she was alive was short lived as Crimson laid out their options. He'd been so angry he almost lost it. They were suppose to help her, not make her worse. But as Crimson explained, his anger, frustration and fear only grew. It seemed that no matter which way they took, Gipsy would be lost.

He felt hopeless as Crimson had moved to proceed with the operation, racking his mind for any solution that could save her. Then they found out she had vanished, and he could feel an emotion he'd never felt before: Despair.

Despite all he'd done to try and keep her distant, he couldn't help but come to appreciate her. Now that she had gone... he didn't know what to do.

He may have been a jerk and an asshole in their eyes, but... he just couldn't bare to watch them die. It was why he charged into the fray, his sting-blades bared and tore his enemies a new one. He didn't want to lose them like the way he lost Chuck. And at the same time, he didn't want to go mad if he did lose them. That wasn't what soldiers did. They mourned their dead, then moved on. More then that, the good ones would gladly lay down their lives so that a friend could live.

Again, he might have been a jerk and an asshole, but deep, deep down he cared about them, more then they could understand.

Then when Gipsy came back... he didn't know what to feel. Relief? Joy? Anger at her running off and leaving them worried shitless? Eventually he just settle on falling back into the regular flow of things because he just couldn't pull his emotions together and just tell her he had been scared. Also, he admitted, he had a reputation to keep. Why spoil it now with the mushy stuff he knew he'd never live down?

Then, when trying to slip back into his act of being an ass, he let slip about Crimson's original plan, that of cutting off her arm.

The next few minutes were terrifying in a whole other way.

If he learned anything, cowering in that shower with the others, it was to never push her over the limit. He didn't think he'd survive the next time if that happened when Crimson wasn't around. Locking the door and all.

Eventually his aimless wandering took him to the door of a familiar, yet unfamiliar, establishment. It was Afterlife, only the entrance to the gambling section of the club.

A grin slowly graced his visor.

There was one thing that Herc had left him with that he hadn't tried yet.

Three hours later found him sitting in a reinforced chair meant for Krogan at the head of a table covered in green velvet. The chips piled before him were denominations in the thousands, and some even higher. Meanwhile, around the table sat a very frustrated crowd of poker players of various species who's piles were significantly smaller then his.

He glanced at the cards, _real_ playing cards, clutched in his hands, then back at the four on the table.

Around the poker table, the other players all watched him for any twitch that could reveal his intentions. Striker almost felt like laughing. He stood in a hanger for months on end without twitching a servo. Sure he hadn't been in control then, but still, same principle.

His biggest competition sat at the opposite head of the table, who, despite his best efforts, couldn't hide the vein pulsing on his forehead. The human had been the current champion of the game room, almost a hundred games and countless credits won. It all came crashing down as Striker made his appearance. The Jaeger had gone in with only five thousand credits worth of chips and was about to walk out with about... oh, seventy hundred thousand.

The joys of having no real face: Not having to worry about your poker face.

A smirk slowly crossed his visor, the other players none the wiser, as he pushed a large pile of chips into the middle.

The whole table seemed to groan as they forced to hand over the last of their own chips just to meet the first quarter of the amount. They must really thought they had a chance. To bad they didn't. It was almost like kicking puppies.

The champion appeared to be on the verge of a stroke... or he was just constipated, as he too pushed in his meager supply.

And now, let the raging quitting begin.

The dealer put down the last card and the other all began to show their own. Striker's smirk only grew as he saw the results. In their defense, they did have good hands, even the champ had a four of a kind with the twos.

If they hated his guts... bolts already they certainly did now as he turned over a pair of kings, making his own four of a kind.

Most just slammed their drink glasses down and stormed off while a few stayed sitting, watching ruefully as he gathered his new fortune into a big pile, then frowned.

His arms, while being strong battering rams of power, weren't so great at holding such a large pile of chips without losing at least a hundred thousand credits worth. Then he saw his solution staggering through the tables that filled the gambling room.

"Hey, jackass," he called once the drunk was close enough, holding up a chip worth a hundred. "Want a drink?"

The man nodded, staggered to side caught himself on the table and held out a hand.

"First," Striker ordered, "gimme your shirt."

The Asari at the exchange booth started as a thick, smelly bag of chip was slammed on the counter with a grinning Jaeger behind it.

"Pay up, bitch!"

-Linebreak-

There were few things that could worry the massive Russian known as Cherno Alpha, but this was one of them. Comrade Gipsy's false death sent his nuclear core pounding in his body, spiking his thoughts and making him think like nothing else had done before.

As he stomped down one of the abandoned hallways of Omega, his mind churned with unanswered questions. It was in times like these that he appreciated being alone in peace and quiet. He had claimed a long stretch of hall as his own, walking back and forth along it's length as he pondered the growing maelstrom in his mind.

As a principle, he found himself a Jaeger of simple pleasures. He enjoyed the fellowship of his comrades, even they did annoy him sometimes. The rush of battle and feeling of things breaking under his fists, he enjoyed that a lot. And just... thinking in a quiet space, free from the troubles and worries of life.

Usually one of the most prominent questions he thought about was why they, his comrades, could talk like humans and he couldn't? It was an answer that always kept alluding him.

But now that was pushed to the back of his mind as he mulled over the false death of Gipsy.

To him, death was something he had grown very much accustomed to. Being the last Mark I to last until the end of the war, he had fought beside many Jaegers who had fallen to the beasts. It grieved him, yes, but he didn't alloy himself to wallow in it.

Enemies, animals, friends, they all had one thing in common: Death waited for them at the end of the line. Much was the same for Jaegers. They were destroyed, torn apart by the Kaiju, facing their own unique kind of death. That was what he understood when he first woke up. The death of mama and papa cemented that fact in his mind. Though this whole concept of this new life, being alive and having his own will was incredible, he felt lukewarm over the whole thing. On one hand, he was alive, a living being of metal and servos, oil flowed through his veins like blood and his core pulsed like a beating heart. On the other hand, he had no one. Well, that was not entirely true. He still had Gipsy, Crimson and Striker, but that paled in comparison to the relationship he could have had with pilots. They who had shared their thoughts and emotions with him to give him the template for this new life would never get to see their child 'grow up' like they always dreamed.

He was saddened by it, but again, he didn't let himself wallow in self pity and regret. There were more important things then wondering what he could have possibly done to save them. To him, it was a waste of time. What had happened, happened, and there was no changing it.

Gipsy's false death, however...

He rumbled deep in his frame as his theories came back.

He called it a false death because that's what it was. While he had been worried, scared even, when their friend disappeared, that she had followed his parents into that everlasting dark. But then she had came back, good as new.

Call it a bit philosophical, but death never made a compromise. No one could come back, not the highest king to the lowest slave, death would never let them go. It seemed odd to Cherno that if she did 'die' then how did she come back? No one could. Therefore Gipsy didn't die, hence calling it her false death. But what really happened?

For that, he had no answer.

She couldn't have wandered away, Crimson said she was near paralyzed, and they would have heard her the moment she opened the door.

Something was going on, and he didn't like it.

There was something wrong with her return, even if she did come back better. She seemed frightened, jumpy, reluctant to answer Crimson's questions about where she'd been. She was scared, not of dying, but something else, something that had happened to her while she was away.

He stopped, raising a hand to where his conn-pod rested in his chest and scratching the metal underneath. He remembered papa used to do it when he was thinking, but it didn't seem to help. He resumed walking.

Gipsy's disappearance was unexplainable, and where she'd gone was even more so.

He didn't like that either. Not knowing things. The wires under his plating itched when he couldn't think of an explanation. Then again, the itch was always there. Ever since they got here he'd been pondering the big question of how they were alive and how they got there. He still no closer to figuring it out then that time...

He stopped dead, mid step as he made a connection.

_They_ appeared here out of nowhere. He and the others appeared, seemingly out of thin air, the same way she disappeared. The two instances were unexplainable and to Cherno that made them connected. The same force that brought them here also kidnapped Gipsy from them, repaired her and sent her back.

But who had the power to do that?

Certainly no one he knew.

Then a thought occurred to him, a terrible one, but a good one none the less.

The Precursors. It was the Precursors that did all this.

He shoved the idea out of his mind and resumed walking. What would those unknown beings want with their greatest enemies? What could they possibly gain by giving them life and dropping them in a place like this? Maybe to get rid of them, so they could invade their earth without interference. But the more he thought about the less likely it seemed. Gipsy had said she had killed them. Dove down into the Breach and detonated her core.

To top it off, Cherno found it unlikely that they would go grave robbing. It was unsettling to imagine himself rusting in Oblivion Bay, but he would prefer that to being turned into an experiment at the hands of the enemy. Then another thing occurred to him. How could Striker or Gipsy be here? They both blew up in some way and there shouldn't be enough of them left to fill a teacup. So unless the Precursors could pull atoms from the air and glue them back together they were hardly the guilty party, but it didn't take them off the suspect list.

There were too many unknowns for Cherno to count, and didn't like it. The mere fact that Gipsy was hiding something about her disappearance was frustrating. She held a piece of the puzzle and wouldn't share it. It almost made him want to run back to the apartment and push her for answers.

Almost.

Angry female Jaegers with swords were terrifying, even when they weren't gunning for you. They could kill you as easily as a Kaiju, that was for certain.

But more then that, he didn't want to upset her. He could see it in her visor that she was scared of whatever she'd seen. It melted his core to see her like that, and he didn't want to upset her further.

They may have been Jaegers, unrelated by country or make but they were all brothers and sisters in arms, and brothers and sisters cared for each other. Even now, he wanted nothing more then to help Gipsy through her hard time, even if that meant staying silent.

Her being hurt earlier brought up such a rage that nothing but the utter destruction of the oppressor would make it go away. If they hurt his friends, they died, simple as that. Gipsy, Crimson, even Striker, he all cared for them, maybe even more then then the battle hardened soldier way. More like the old war veteran, who watched the young fight and die beside him, unwilling to let another one fall under his watch... even if it meant his own life.

He rumbled as he thought about. The thought of death worried him, but it was the thought any of his friends suffering through that which scared him even more.

As he submerged himself even deeper in his mind, the outside world began to go out of focus, so much so, he forgot to turn around at his usual rotation point, his feet carrying him forward into unknown territory. Looking back, he should have been paying more attention, meaning he should have seen the signs that were plastered on the walls. Written in various language, one of witch he could understand, and painted a bright red, they were hardly hard to spot and the overwhelming number of them would make it almost impossible to miss them. Unfortunately for the Jaeger he missed them completely, stepped on a rusted piece of flooring and uttered a startled yelp as the floor caved in beneath him, sending him falling into a ten foot deep pit with a tiny mushroom cloud of dust and rust particals.

As the cloud settled, all that was left of the Russian giant was squarish whole in the floor. Then a growling farting sound echoed up, the representation of one word:

Fuck.

* * *

**Okay, took me a bit longer to upload this, but it's up now, obviously. Yay. **

**Not a lot of story here this time, just a little bit more characterization on the Jaegers before the main events start happening.**

**Now to the reviewers:**

**Sgt. Nolisten: Thank you for the info. I honestly didn't know that. **

**Destructo Wolf: It never really occurred to me what kind of measurement system I was using. I just went with the first thing that came to mind.**

**Tha Shadow 750: Just wait and find out.**

**To everyone else who reviewed: Thank you very much!**

**DJ out!**

**(I don't own ME or PR, sadly.)**


	11. The Rising Maw Part 5

It was about after the fortieth level they descended that Crimson began to question Kriln's previous occupation. They had left Aria's territory behind and now were strolling through one of the most desolate places he'd seen in his short life.

The streets were filled with filth, garbage and other things Crimson didn't want to think about. Despite that, Batarians strolled about like it was paradise. Their armor was dirty, falling apart and, in most cases, bloody, blending in perfectly with the place around them. There were also a lot of them. So many that Crimson was worried they might try something and make a move against him.

Kriln seemed to realize it too. He left his standard Vindicator back at base in exchange for the Revenant Gipsy had found. They had repaired it and put it back together and now the Turian had it strapped to his back, a good warning to any would-be attackers that they'd be in for a hard time. Of course, Crimson barely had to try to look threatening. His size and very nature parted the packed crowds of pirates like soap through oil. Though it was worrying to see that more then a few looked at him with covetous eyes, probably wondering about how much he'd be worth on the black market.

He shivered and clenched all three of his hands. He didn't like it one bit.

Apparently Kriln thought the same, hurrying through a teaming plaza and stopping at large rusted door at the far end guarded by a single armed Batarian. The guard looked at Kriln and grinned.

"You bastard," he laughed, reaching out and giving Kriln a friendly punch in the chest. "Where the hell have you been? Aria been keeping you as her man whore for too long?"

Kriln snorted. "I'm not that unlucky."

"Well you missed out on some good pay a while back. We had just..." He caught sight of Crimson towering behind him and gaped, then raised a hand and pointed. "I-is that...?

"Yep," Kriln replied before Crimson could. "But listen, we're running a little tight here, think you can let us talk to Naven?"

"Uh... yeah," the Batarian nodded slowly, activating his omni-tool and opening the door. "Just... keep him on a tight leash, will ya? We got some important costumers here day."

Kriln entered without a word, but Crimson paused at the threshold, turned his head to look at the guard and leaned down. The Batarian flinched as his glowing eye glared down on him.

"I _resent_ that," Crimson said slowly, causing the guard to back away before he followed Kriln inside.

The room beyond was a simply hallway. Doors on either side led to parts unknown, but Kriln led him straight ahead, heading for a single door on the far end.

"Was he that scared of me?" Crimson asked suddenly.

The Turian shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't feared off world. Both from taking down Qill and killing that Warlord."

"Who?" Crimson asked.

"Warlord Velc," Kriln replied. "He was second in command of the whole Blood Pack on Omega and has more bounties on his head then I can count. The GI-3 had him on the watch list for a long time before you came in and wiped him off. It was also how Aria decided to put you in the GI-7, seeing on how you handle Krogan so well."

Before the conversation could continue, they reached the door and passed through it into deafening noise.

They were at the top of a large set of bleachers over looking a circular arena. The seats were filled with Batarians, Turians, Asari, even the odd human here and there and they were shouting at the top of their lungs and raising their hands to be noticed by the auctioneer who stood on a raised dais in the arena. The whole place smelled of sweat, oil and filth.

"DO I HEAR 35K!" the auctioneer was shouting. "35K FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE!" He pointed behind him to a large painting hung on a pole. It was of a beautiful sunset over a city of curved buildings that could only be Asari in nature.

"FORTY FIVE!" Someone shouted over the noise.

"FORTY FIVE!" the auctioneer roared in answer. "DO I HEAR FIFTY!"

A dozen unintelligible voices roared back.

Crimson couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. There was just to much noise, coupled with the smell, if he had the means too, he would have thrown up. Instead, he glanced over at Kriln and gave him a nudge, not expecting to be noticed over the shouting. When the Turian did turn, Crimson pointed at the auctioneer.

"Is that him?" he shouted next to his ear.

"No!" Kriln shouted back. "Follow me!"

He led him around the outer ring of the bleachers, down a flight of stairs and through another door that opened into a large warehouse. Crates and other packages filled the area, all organized into neat rows with enough walking space in between to fit a tank.

As they walked in and the door closed, the noise from outside instantly vanished. Very good soundproofing, Crimson thought. It did, however, let them hear voices that came from deeper inside the maze of crates.

Without a word, Kriln led him through the alleys formed from the cargo towards the voices.

Crimson could hardly count all the thing that were in stock, a lot of which he couldn't even recognize, not to mention the thousands of boxes No wonder this guy need those scanners.

They turned a corner and saw a small crowd of Batarians, half of which bore the colors of the Blue Suns. They were talking with another Batarian dressed in an odd type of suit, almost like a tuxedo, with guards standing to either side. The group leader of the Blue Suns was pointed back at a crate behind them, and talking in a rather forced calm tone. The suited alien nodded slowly and said something, they were still too far away to be heard clearly. The leader scowled, turned around, seemed to think for a moment before turning again and giving a dismissing wave with his hand. Instantly the guards closed in around them, taking the crate, which was sitting on a trolly, and pulling it deeper into the warehouse with the Blue Suns following behind.

"Hope it's not a bomb," Kriln muttered as they approached the suited Batarian, who remained standing where he was as his guards left. Then he turned, catching sight of Kriln for the first time and a small grin graced his mouth.

"Kriln," he said in a low baritone, reaching out and shaking the Turian's hand. "Finally decide to leave that bitch?"

"No. Still have a contract you know, Naven," Kriln replied.

"Ah," the Batarian sighed, obviously disappointed. "I could use someone like you again. Ex-Black Ops, ex-Blue Sun, plenty of experience, people like that are hard to come by."

Then he looked behind him and saw Crimson standing there, his single eye darkening slightly.

"And what is this?" Naven asked, stepping around to face Crimson, the smile on his face becoming more lusty then friendly. "You're bringing me one of these? Is it my birthday?"

He reached out and gave his chest plating a tap, getting a quiet "ting" sound from the metal. The next instant he found his hand being crushed in a metallic grip and Crimson's eye glaring down upon him.

"I am tired of saying this so I will only say it once," Crimson growled, leaning down to stare the Batarian in the middle of his four eyed head. "I am not _property._ Am I understood?"

Naven nodded fanatically before his hand was released and he drew it to his chest, hissing in pain as the bones slowly slid back into place.

Kriln looked to be halfway between amused and worried, glancing between his former boss and the Jaeger.

"Well, they weren't kidding about your strength," Naven grunted, shaking his hand to try and get the blood flowing again. "Fuck, you squeeze harder then a Krogan on steroids."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Crimson said dryly.

"Whatever you want, mech," the Batarian growled, turning to Kriln. "So what do you want? Cause I doubt you came here just to chat."

"Yeah," Kriln nodded, stepping up. "I'm calling in a favor."

Naven's face harden and took on a business like edge. "I see," he said slowly. "Big or small?"

"Small, I think," Kriln replied, motioning at Crimson. "My friend here was looking for one of those cargo scanners you replaced. Need's it for repairs or something like that."

"Hmm." The Batarian sighed, scratching his chin before he shrugged. "Eh, what the hell. They weren't pulling in much anyway."

His omni-tool bleeped and he checked it, his face growing alarmed.

"Now?" he muttered, tapping some keys furiously. "Why the hell..."

He trailed off and looked up at Kriln. "I got to go. One of our biggest buyers just showed up and wants to see our stock. Normally I wouldn't leave anyone to wander in the hold like this, but I think I can trust you enough not to screw me over. They're in section B55."

With that he turned and hurried off at a light jog into the maze of crates.

"Quite the character," Crimson muttered, beginning to feel uneasy about the whole situation.

"He's okay as Batarians go," Kriln replied, motioning down an alley. "This way."

As they went in deeper, Crimson couldn't shake the feeling from before; a tightening in his chest like a vice squeezing his core. The whole building seemed to give off the feeling of being locked in a cage. The towering stacks of crates only making it worse, making him feel like a rat stuck in a maze. Soon the crates began to give way to huge industrial shelving units, dozens of feet tall and filled groups of identical crates and boxes.

"B..." Kriln muttered, turning to walk along side one of the shelving units. "5... 5..."

He stopped and, looking up to the top most shelf pointed. "There, B55, top shelf."

Crimson looked up and his shoulders slumped as he saw how big they were... not the mention the height they were stored at.

"Okay," he said slowly. "So how to get them down? Those things are huge."

"Huh? Oh no, not those ones. They're just to the right... yeah, those ones." He pointed out a cluster of smaller box just to the right and Crimson's eye brightened in a small measure of relief.

"Ah," he nodded, then looked around. "So... how are we going to get it down?"

Kriln gave him a rather sheepish look. "Can you climb?"

"Umm," Crimson stammered, looking up to the top most shelf. It was high, to say the least; welded to the ceiling at fifty feet and packed to the brim with goods. Still, if it could hold a couple dozen tons of product it could hold two more of solid Jaeger. "I... guess. But are you sure they don't have a forklift or something?"

"Nope, not since I last worked here."

"Then how did they get up there?"

"You... don't want to know."

Sighing, Crimson stepped up, grabbed the nearest thing above his head and started the long journey upward.

Physically, it turned out to be a breeze. While he wasn't the most heavily armored Jaeger, his strength and speed was almost on par with Striker's. Top it off with his third arm to help find handholds in the random items he was making pretty good time. Then he reached a shelf filled with bags of some spongy material which he mistakenly thought was rocks of some kind. So when he gave his hold a little tug he nearly ended up pulling the whole shelf off the racks.

"Careful!" he heard Kriln call out beneath him.

"I bet Striker and the others don't have to go through this," Crimson grumbled to himself, trying to reach up to something more solid.

-Meanwhile-

"Aaarg! What did you eat for breakfast, rocks?!" Striker shouted, bending over a hole in the dirty flooring as he tried to pull Cherno out of his prison.

From down in the darkness a single light shone upward and an indignant rumble floated up.

"Ah shut up!"

-Meanwhile-

"Never... again," Crimson growled as he crawled sideways along the topmost shelf. Aside from that light spongy stuff there had been cans of paint, rotten food, old fertilizer and a half open box of all-species condoms. The last item he didn't care about if it hit the floor or not. Maybe Kriln did. Or maybe not, considering the Turian had been stuffing as many into the slots on his armor as he could, all the while avoiding the spreading pools of paint that Crimson had accidentally send down.

But he had made, and now was hanging just in front of his target. Then he actually saw them and groaned at his predicament.

The boxes, five in total, were about a foot and a half in width and height, but nearly ten feet long. It would be near impossible to climb down with it, not to mention it's size would make it incredibly awkward. Even with three arms there was only so much he could do to hold something that large and not cause an avalanche of stuff on the way down. He was half tempted to just climb down and demand a ladder or something. Why he didn't do that before, he had no idea, but he refused to leave empty handed, not after that climb.

So, affixing himself as best he could to the shelves, he gently eased out one of the boxes. It was made out of a light kind of metal, not cardboard thankfully, and slid rather well off it's fellows. In fact it slid so well he had to catch it before it started the long fall down.

When he was sure he had a good grip, he released his right hand, allowing himself to hang by his single left arm while his two right ones arranged the awkward cargo under his arms and gripped it tight. He nodded, satisfied, then groaned as he realized what he'd done. With both his right arms holding the box he had essentially crippled himself. He couldn't climb down with one hand, and if removed one from the box it would fall and, mostly likely, be smash to bits. And he wasn't going to climb up to get another one, that was for sure.

Well, he thought, looking at the ground far below, they were carried in by helicopters and dropped from on high. If their suspension and servos could take it when they were thousands of tons, they could handle it when he was only two.

After a brief look down to confirm his landing spot he bent his legs and kicked off the selves, box clutched tight in his arms.

The fall, while only three seconds long, seemed to last forever as he raced downward before hitting the ground with a mighty clang. The metal flooring bent under his weight, forming a mini crater around the landing zone. He remained in a crouch, gritting his none-existent teeth as pain lanced up his legs. He shut his eye and bore it out until it slowly began to fade away. Maybe it was just the shock of the impact or maybe he'd fallen from too high up. His body slowly unclenched as the pain faded from his right leg, but his left was still tender to move. Cautiously, he stood and silently gasped at the burst of pain the lanced up from his left knee joint.

Had he broken something? From a fall like that? Maybe it had been too much for his suspension to take.

Giving his leg a few testing movements he quickly determined that his knee was the only thing injured, and the box was still tucked away under his arms, safe and sound. Limping slightly and muting the groans from his speakers he stepped out of the crater he'd made and almost ran into Kriln who was staring him with wide eyes.

"Is there anything you physically can't do?" he asked.

"None that I'll mention right now," Crimson replied, wincing as he put more weight on his leg. The pain had dulled down somewhat and he would've stayed off it all together except that he had no way of getting back home. None of the others knew where he'd gone and he doubted they could find him anyway. Unfortunately, that left him only one option; walk home himself and hope the injury didn't get worse.

A brief hint of amusement crossed his mind. He'd injured himself getting the very item witch was meant to help them. If he had known getting medical equipment was so risky he wouldn't have done it in the first place.

Kriln snorted, then looked at the box under his arms. "You sure you got the right one?"

"Please tell me I did," Crimson groaned, holding out the box. "I can't climb up there again."

Rising an eyeridge at his answer, Kriln leaned in and examined a label on the side. "Yep. You got it all right."

Crimson let out a sigh of relief as his knee flared up again. No more climbing for him. He couldn't see why people _enjoyed_ doing that sort of thing. The chance of injury was just too high, and he was a Jaeger. If a human fell it would be near instant death.

"Well," Kriln sighed, stuffing the last of the condoms into his pockets. "We should go before they realize we did this." He motioned to the paint splattered around them, mixed together with rotten fruit and other things Crimson didn't want to think about.

"We're the only ones here," Crimson pointed out. "They're going to know it was us no matter what we do."

"Yeah," the Turian shrugged. "But there's a big difference between knowing it was us and catching us and making us pay for it all."

"Good point."

Turning swiftly on his heel, Kriln began leading him through the maze with confidence. Though he was able to keep pace with the Turian, it didn't stop Crimson from wincing with each step. He could feel his knee scream in pain with each step but he forced himself to keep going. There was no one to drag him out of this mess if he went down. At least, no one he trusted. Kriln might have been friendly for all intents and purposes, but he wasn't a Jaeger, and in this growing galaxy of threats Crimson felt there was no one he could trust other then his own kind. So, readjusting the box under his arms, he braced himself for the worst and followed Kriln with only a little of a limp to his step.

It was about a minute later when passing by a sign that read 'C01' that Kriln turned a corner, froze like a deer in headlights then jumped back behind cover with a curse.

"What?" Crimson asked, coming up sort behind him, wincing as he did so.

"Trouble," Kriln growled, jerking his head to the corner. "Have a look."

Curious, Crimson gently set the box down before stepped past him and peeking his single eye around the crate. It brightened in surprise as he saw what was happening.

The corner they were about to turn was directly parallel with the wall of the warehouse. At first glace, Crimson thought it was covered in shelves like the rest of the place. But then as he got a good long look at it a sickening feeling wormed it's way into his core.

Cages.

The entire wall was lined with cages, stacked together like blocks in a castle. And in them were hundreds, if not thousands of people, cowering in the back of their prisons as guards stalked by. They were of all species, Humans, Asari, Turians, even fellow Batarians lined Naven's collection. They all looked half starved and were covered in filth as guards dragged the best looking out and made them stand in a line.

He was so caught up in it all that he almost missed the Krogan that strolled up and down the line of slaves, examining them with a critical eye.

Recognition flashed in Crimson's mind as he saw him. It was the same Krogan that he saw in the markets when they were bringing Gipsy back. The very same black armor with the Rising Maw symbol, gray headplate and scar, but he never realized that he was that small. Standing six feet tall he barely over the heads of those in the lineup, most of which were Asari. Along with him were eight more Krogan in jet black armor with full headgear and bearing heavy shotguns of various kinds except one who had a strange sniper rifle in his hands.

Naven was there was well, hands clasped behind his back as, what seemed like every guard in the establishment clustered around him, clutching their weapons in a worrying state of readiness. Naven himself appeared to be to fidgeting as the Krogan examined his wares.

Finally growing tired of the lineup, the Krogan stalked up to Naven, causing the Batarian to take a cautious step backwards.

"Is this the best you got?" Crimson's sensitive audio receptors picked up. The Krogan had a surprising deep voice despite his small size. "I've seen Pyjacks with more muscle then these things."

"O-of course," Naven stammered. "But you have to understand the slave market is in a bit of hole right now. The Alliance is too closed up and our suppliers can't..."

"Shut up," the Krogan growled. "I let you know in advance we were coming and this is the shit you show me?"

"W-well perhaps if you tell us what you need them for then I could..."

"You don't need to know nothing. I told you we want the physical best, and you give me Asari whores."

"Again, the slave market..."

"Don't give me that bullshit. We passed by several chain gangs on our way here and their product was twice as better as yours. The only reason they don't have _your_ credits is because you sell in bulk, but now I'm thinking our money would be better spent elsewhere. _Convince_ me otherwise."

Naven gulped before waving forward one of his guards. When he was close enough, Naven whispered in his ear, motioning to the top most cages. The guard nodded, calling up his omni-tool and pressing a few buttons.

Down from the ceiling descended a platform like the ones window washers used with another guard operating the controls on one end and an inclosed pen on the other. It dropped down to a cage near the top and the guard ushered on a collection of Humans, Turians and Batarians. Cargo loaded, the platform descended to the ground where more guards swarmed in and pulled the slaves from the pen and arranged them into a new line for the Krogan's inspection.

"Aahhh, much better," the Krogan crowed, giving a satisfied nod before turning to face his men. In that instant, as he was turning, Crimson swore their eyes locked. Burning grey orbs and unblinking yellow optic met in a single moment, then the Krogan completed his rotation and the connection was lost. Whether or not he really did see him was unknown, but Crimson really hoped he didn't. He had a bad feeling about that one.

The Krogan made a few hand signals and three of his men stepped forward, one of them carrying the strange sniper rifle. They conversed quietly, low enough that Crimson couldn't pick them up before the three moved off into the maze, thankfully in the opposite direction as their hiding spot. Meanwhile the leader began examining the new group of slaves lined up before him.

"They're in the slave market?"

Crimson almost jumped in surprise as Kriln whispered beside him. "What?"

"I've never heard of any merc group that gets into slavery unless they're selling. Never seen one of them doing the buying before."

They watched silently as the Krogan waved away the lineup, apparently satisfied, and motioned for the next one. As the new line was put together the others were herded off by some of the Krogan, following the others that had left earlier.

"That's almost twenty five thousand credits right there," Kriln muttered as the slaves were led away. "Good physical condition, very expensive."

"And how would you know this?" Crimson muttered back, the sickening feeling in his core growing within him.

"I used to work here, if you haven't figured it out yet. Not in the slave department, mind you, but I learned enough about it that I could have gotten into the business myself."

"And... did you?" Crimson asked, slowly, a hint of disgust working it's way into his voice.

"No. Slave market was, and still is in decline. And besides, you need a big operation to turn a profit anyway."

"Ah," Crimson nodded slowly, pulling away from the corner and leaned against a sturdy looking crate to take the weight off his leg. What respect he'd had for the Turian had just taken a nosedive into the ocean.

There were some things that Crimson was unsure of, the deep inner recesses of himself where it impossible to gauge his emotions on certain subjects. But now there was no denying what he felt about slavery.

He hated it. Pure and simple hate.

The thought of people being herded like cattle, animals, even if they were aliens was sickening. Lives weren't things you traded for credits, and the idea that there was a whole economy thriving off this made him want to burn it to the ground.

He was drawn out of his mussing by a small twang in his leg. Then for the first time since he'd seen the Krogan he realized that his knee didn't hurt like it did before. The sharp, piercing stabs were now replaced by a dull throbbing and, when he put his foot to the ground, there was only an aching pressure.

He looked down, confused, and noticed for the first time the bluish gas leaking from his joint and under his plating. The very same stuff he'd seen come out of Gipsy.

Before he could really think about it, he noticed something else in his peripheral vision, just a tiny detail out of place but it made him look all the same. There, down the way they came, was a haze floating in midair. It was like a prism had been placed in the street, warping the light that went through it and making the things behind it seem strange and distorted.

As he stared at it, he saw it move, but was unable to pinpoint what it was. Then Kriln's words about armor with cloaking mods rushed back to him and his core started pounding as he realized what he was seeing.

Not taking a chance, he leaped forward, feet leaving the ground as he dived out of the way.

And not a moment too soon.

There was a muffled flash followed by a piercing whistling sound before an explosion rocked the ground behind him. It was so big he felt the shock wave catch him and push him up and out into the middle of the makeshift street where he hit the ground hard.

He blinked away the static that blurred his vision and took stock. He didn't feel hurt, other then his leg, which, again, was rapidly disappearing, but his back plating and sensor net was tingling from the heat wash from the explosion. He pushed himself to his feet as fast as he could, ignoring the protest from his knee.

The crate he had hidden behind was little more then a smoking wreak. Whatever had hit it had reduced it to a few large pieces of burning scrap flung about the area. Nearby lay Kriln, limbs spread out awkwardly, but he was moving, groaning as he tried to rise. The Revenant was okay, Crimson noticed idly, before focusing his gaze on his attacker.

The Krogan was visible now, his cloak disengaged from when he fired, black armor shining proudly under the lights of the warehouse. In his hands was the strange sniper rifle, which, now that Crimson could get a good look at it, resembled a cross between a Black Widow sniper rifle and a grenade launcher. The long barrel, almost as thick as the Krogan's arms, had a single rectangular hole in the center and had a large drum magazine in front of the grip.

Seeing him go for the reload, Crimson charged forward, ignoring the pressure in his knee. He had to close the distance before the Krogan could fire again.

Quite calmly, the Krogan reached up and pulled the action on his rifle ejecting not one, but _five_ spent thermal clips as his weapon cycled in more. Before he could aim again Crimson was on him, swinging his buzzsaws at his throat.

The Krogan ducked under the swipe and slammed the butt of his rifle into Crimson's side with as much strength as he could muster. Crimson gasped as the blow landed, jerking him to the side. His plating was dented, but he was alright, and the fact that he weighed more then a ton kept him on his feet as he turned to face the Krogan, who had slipped around behind him and prepared to fire again.

He twisted on his heel, bringing his foot up and kicked the gun out of the Krogan's hands before he could shoot again. But the move put him off balance, and as he tried to recover the Krogan lunged and tackled him around the waist. With a surprised yelp he toppled over, hitting the ground hard as the Krogan straddled his waist. Then it wrenched a knife from a hidden sheath and drove the blade towards the vulnerable machinery of his neck.

Crimson barely caught it in time, stopping the blade mere inches from his hydraulics. The Krogan only pushed harder, backing the knife with both hands as he tried to remove the Jaeger's head.

Too late he realized his mistake.

With both hands tied he couldn't stop Crimson's third arm as he thrust a whirring buzzsaw into his throat, driving it so deep he felt his servos jam up.

The Krogan shuttered, blood flowing from his gaping neck before he went limp, collapsing on top of Crimson with a wet gurgle. A second later Crimson went limp himself, the adrenaline bleeding away as his vents heaved in air.

These Krogan were more difficult then Kaiju at times.

He pushed the body off him with a grunt and slowly stood, mindful of his shattered knee.

It didn't hurt. In fact, he couldn't feel anything wrong with it at all. There was no pain, not even that aching pressure. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he'd never been injured at all. Still, he gave it a few testing movements, pushing the servos to the maximum. Nothing. No pain, no protest, like it had been fully repaired by tiny hands in the span of a few minutes.

His mind was so caught up in the revelation that he almost missed the gun shots echoing throughout the warehouse.

Curious, he peeked around the corner again and his core sank.

Naven and his guards were spread out by the slave cages, firing wildly at every twitch they thought they saw. Then, while they were distracted, a Krogan would de-cloak behind one and pump a single high powered shot into his back before disappearing again.

The guard's numbers rapidly dwindled until it was just Naven standing alone among the dead. He look petrified, waving a pistol wildly as he babbled out apologies and other meaningless phrases.

"B-but we had a deal!" he cried.

"The deal..." the short Krogan shouted back, suddenly appearing behind him, "...is off!"

Naven's head exploded as the Krogan fired his shotgun pointblank, sending chunks flying everywhere as the body hit the ground.

"Cheapskate," Crimson heard the Krogan mutter, before he turned to his followers who appeared in a circle around him. He pointed at the cages. "Call in for reinforcements then get those things out for inspection. We take only the best... kill the others."

He said more, but when Crimson heard reinforcements he was already moving. He was in no hurry to meet these reinforcements and the others were bound to realize one of their own was missing and come after him. He didn't fancy himself against a dozen of these trained Krogan, especially with the kind of weaponry they were packing.

Running as quietly as he could, he went back and grabbed the scanner, just as Kriln rose to his feet, shaking his head like a dog as he shook off the explosion.

"Uh," he groaned, putting his hand to where his ear would be and pulling it back bloodied. "What happened?"

"Ambush," Crimson whispered, grabbing his shoulder as the Turian swayed from side to side. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was run over by a Thrasher Maw," he groaned, blinking like an owl.

"An apt description," Crimson muttered, pulling Kriln along as they hurried toward the exit, scanner in hand. All the while the sounds of clanging metal, gunshots and screams echoed through the warehouse as the Maws disposed of the unwanted '_product_.'

* * *

**Well, this took way to damn long. Hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**


	12. The Rising Maw Part 6

"And just a bit to the lef- Nononono stop!"

"You said to the left!"

"Your other left! Now just slide it back... slowly... slowly... slo- stop! Hold it... hold it... Yes, that's perfect!" Crimson crowed, quickly typing in a command on the portable terminal, sealing the two parts together. He flashed Striker a thumbs up. "Perfect. Four down, twenty more to go."

There was a crash and the counter buckled as Striker slumped against it, muttering obscenity under his breath.

"Oh man up," Crimson said, not looking up from the code flashing across the terminal. "They're not that heavy."

"Yeah, but they're flimsier then shit," Striker shot back, vents... _venting_ his pent up frustration.

"That's why your helping me," Crimson replied cheerfully. "No offence, Cherno, but you are, literally, not made for the delicate jobs."

There was a dismissive rumble from the couch, muted slightly by the sound of gunfire from cheesy Turian action movie playing on the HS.

"Well what about Gipsy then?" Striker asked angrily.

"Uh..." Crimson glanced up from his work to Gipsy, who stood on the other side of the counter with her arms crossed, visor blazing as she glared at him. "If you want to ask her, be my guest," he said, quickly averting his gaze back to the terminal.

"Fuck that shit," came the reply. "... fine, let's get this over with."

Nodded in satisfaction, Crimson resumed typing in the complex code sequences used to connect the two devices. Or rather, he tried to. No matter how hard he tried, he could still feel Gipsy's glare burning into him. After thirty seconds of trying to ignore her he gave in, slowly lifting his eye to meet hers.

"I... take it you haven't forgiven me yet?"

With a creaking of joints, her head very slowly shook from side to side.

"I said I was sorry!"

Her visor darkened slightly, her non-existent eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You mean _that_ didn't even help?" he asked meekly, gesturing to the Revenent machine gun resting next to the terminal on the counter. Her head started going from side to side again, paused, then started turning in a circle in a weird combination of yes and no.

"It also has... incendiary mods," he added hopefully.

Her head tilted to the side, a quizzical glow on her visor.

"Basically, it super-heats the shots as they leave the barrel, so you're shooting flaming, armor piercin..."

The weapon was wanked from it's place fast then he could blink, the bedroom door slamming shut followed a few second later. Crimson stared at it, horror slowly dawning on his visor as the muted sound of rapid fire drifted through the walls, along with Gipsy's excited shouts.

"What... have I done?" he whispered, horrified.

"You just signed our death warrants," Striker answered in the same tone. "You. Fucking. Idiot."

Suddenly, a glowing hole appeared in the wall as a flaming grain of sand punched through, breezing within an inch of Cherno's head, through the HS causing it to flicker before embedding itself in the wall behind it. The three Jaegers stared at the smoking bullet hole as a whimpering keen worked it's way out of Cherno's chassis.

"We're doomed," Crimson whimpered.

The door whooshed open and Crimson saw his brief life flash before his eye as Gipsy charged out straight towards him. But the quick and painful death he'd been expecting never came. Instead, he felt Gipsy's arms wrap around him in a strut breaking hug as her endlessly repeating "thankyouthankyouthankyou" echoed in his audio receptors.

"So... you forgive me then?" he asked hesitantly.

She stopped, let go and stepped back, Revenent cradled in her arms. "Can I keep it?" she asked back, her innocent and sweet voice voice covering up the low, barely audible threats of eternal damnation.

Crimson nodded frantically.

"Then yes," he replied, visor glowing in a sweet smile.

Crimson felt his knees go weak in relief but somehow managed to remain standing. He mentally thanked whatever deity had possessed Kriln to give him the weapon before they separated after their little adventure in Naven's warehouse before letting out a great sigh of relief.

"Thank you for that," he murmured, straightening up. "Now, let's get this thing set up, shall we?"

Now that Gipsy was lending her help, the process sped up drastically. Soon, the three Jaegers stepped back, admiring their work with pride... somewhat.

"It's a box," Striker groused.

"It's a cargo scanner," Crimson corrected.

"I just made a fucking _box_?"

"More like you tried to," Gipsy added teasingly.

"Fuck off."

Holding back a groan at his teammates antics, Crimson couldn't help but feel a little let down as he took in the scanner. It was, as Striker had said, a box. Or, more accurately, an empty box. The whole thing was made up of thin metal tubes connected on the ends to form a near perfect cube.

His shoulders slumped as he stared at it. It was a rather anticlimactic reward, considering all he'd gone through to get it.

But honestly, what had he'd been expecting? Some large computer of sorts with a lot of pointless, flashing buttons like in star trek? Actually, once he thought about it, this seemed like a logical design. Build it into the walls of some hallway so it could scan everything that came through it.

But the fact still remained that he risked his life... for a glorified cube.

"Well," he announced, clapping his hands together as he walked over to the terminal that came included with the scanner, "let's get this thing fired up shall we?"

"Yeah, you do that," Striker drawled, turning on his heel and stalking away, muttering under his breath. "A fucking box. From Kaiju killer to fucking box maker!"

"Wow, you really have sunk low," Gipsy quipped, earning a rumbling chuckle from Cherno.

Tuning them out, Crimson focused on the terminal screen as his fingers danced across the keys. He couldn't figure out why exactly the whole set up needed a connection to the main company server to function, but it wouldn't let him start the thing up until it did. Biting back a growl, he eventually found the apartment's pubic extranet connection and patched it through. He watched as a quick software update flickered across the screen before both it and the keyboard flickered and vanished, replaced by a floating grid that hovered in the air.

"So... does that mean it's working?" he asked himself, eye darting between the scanner and the display. Shrugging, he reached for the closest available object, which just so happened to be Gipsy's Revenent, and tossed it into the scanner. Instantly a model holographic Revenent appeared on the grid, bouncing around the exact same way the real one did in the cube.

As it came to rest, a shimmer passed over the hologram and the model became transparent. Then lines started to form inside it, forming the individual components one by one. Before long, Crimson nodded in satisfaction as a complete x-ray image of the gun hovered in the air. He flicked at the projection experimentally and the model spun in the air, then flickered and vanished.

He blinked, beginning to pull up a diagnostic screen before he looked back and scowled.

"Gipsy, I was using that."

She glared at him, backing away from the scanner with the Revenent clutched safely in her arms.

"Mine," she growled dangerously.

"Not that I needed it anymore," Crimson said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. "Please calm down."

There was a loud creak as Cherno heaved his bulk off the couch and stomped over, rumbling a question as he did so.

"Well, a basic scan I guess," Crimson shrugged. "One of us steps inside and we see what happens."

There was a pause as the four glanced around at each other. Then Cherno shrugged and carefully stepped into the box. Instantly shrill alarms blared from the terminal.

"Oh what now?" Crimson exclaimed as he whirled around and stared at the screen. The words 'Data Overload' flashed across it with a small 'do you wish to proceed?' button beneath it. He pressed it and the alarms stopped, then, slowly, a rough outline of Cherno appeared. Crimson waited for a full minute, but nothing else seemed to happened. Then the image flickered, the outline becoming more detailed with Cherno's thick outer plating. After another minute the same thing happened again, but it was only scratching the surface of the mighty machine.

Crimson frowned. What was taking it so long? He reached to put up a diagnostic before something occurred to him. As he considered it, the answer became more and more apparent.

"So that's why," he murmured, eye bright in realization.

The others looked at him in confusion and Cherno let out a questioning groan.

"We're still the same," Crimson replied, mind racing the with implications.

"Huh?" Gipsy asked, head tilted inquisitively.

Crimson turned around to face them and pointed to the scanner.

"We are the same," he repeated. "Whether we're giant robots or small like this, we are the same. Our builds haven't changed, nor or the materials we're made of, the only thing that has changed is our size."

"Again. Huh?"

"Alright, uh, we were big, right. But now, we're small. Our bodies are still the same as when we were big now that we're small. So, with that in mind, take a screw and hold it in your hand. That screw is a fixed size, alright. Now, when we were still titans, we had _millions_ of those same screws in our bodies, but the number hasn't changed now that we've shrunk, they've only gotten smaller. So, a regular sized screw is... probably comparable to bacteria at this point. And that goes for everything, wires, cables, nuts, bolts, _everything_!'

He pointed to terminal where the model of Cherno had barely made any progress at all. "This scanner is trying to scan an entire two hundred and fifty foot machine the size of a Krogan."

"Uhhhhhh... Oookay?"

"Oh for crying out loud! What about this aren't you getting?!"

Striker crossed his arms. "Uh, the part where I ask 'why the fuck should we care?' Sure we've gotten smaller, so the fuck what?"

"It means," Crimson said grimly, "that fixing us is impossible."

The others stared at him for a good long minute before Cherno rumbled.

"Well, I'd like to see you find a screw that's one _eighth of a nano-meter_!"

"And a screwdriver too."

Crimson's neck creaked as he glared at Gipsy, who only shrugged. "What? You need a screwdriver for screws, don't you?"

"...Yes. And... a _screwdriver_," Crimson deadpanned.

"But seriously," Gipsy continued. "I don't really see what the problem is, Crimson. Sure, everything about us is smaller, but as Striker said, so what?"

Crimson took in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out.

"Because," he said in a much calmer tone, "of what happened to you, Gipsy."

"Uh... What about m-"

"Your arm," Crimson interrupted. "And your... disappearance."

She stiffened, visor going bright with fear. "U-uh- but, I..."

"Just calm down, please," Crimson said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We just need to know more about how you were repaired is all."

"S-such as?" she stammered.

"Well, while you were knocked out, I noticed this... bluish gas inside you. I noticed it earlier too when I... did something stupid, long story, but it seems to be the catalyst for our repairs."

"So we're being fixed up by celestial fart gas," Striker deadpanned. "Great. I feel better already."

"We don't know that yet," Crimson interjected, giving Gipsy an apologetic look. "Normally I'd run the scan on myself, I could be considered a subject of its... treatment, but none of you know how to run this thing so..."

"I-its alright," Gipsy interrupted, looking relived. "I understand... kinda."

"Right," Crimson nodded, shooing Cherno out of the scanner. "Just step in and we'll get started."

Following his instructions, Gipsy stepped into the square enclosure, reluctantly handing her Revenent to Crimson as she settled for a long wait.

"Alright," Crimson muttered to himself, fingers flying over the keys of the terminal. "Connection established... resetting parameters... data overload corrected and... go."

The scanner hummed quietly, the tiny processors inside struggling to comprehend what was inside. Soon a rough outline of her outer plating appeared above the terminal. As the minutes dragged by, the model became more detailed as the scan reached deeper. It was moving faster then Cherno's, maybe on account of Gipsy's thinner armor.

"There we go," Crimson murmured as the scan reached her shoulder joints.

The scanner could read every element on the periodic table, and it easily recognized the metal composition of Gipsy's body. But in the area of her right shoulder there was a mass of flashing red hovering over certain components. Crimson recognized them as parts shredded by the shotgun blast she'd received. It must be that gas.

As the scan continued he pulled up an analysis program, setting it to scan the gas itself. It took another minute, but soon the results came back, leaving him gaping.

"T-that's impossible," he stammered. "You can't have _thirty_ different elements, metals no less, in _gaseous_ form."

Cherno gave a low, questioning rumble.

"Well," Crimson said slowly. "According to the scan results, this gas is made up of thirty different elements, all of which are found in Gipsy's body, including metals. Which should be impossible. There is no such thing as gaseous titanium. Aside from that, there's-"

A loud beeping cut him off as more alarms flashed across the terminal screen.

"Oh what now," he groaned. Then froze as he saw the source of the trouble.

The scan of Gipsy was finished, a full 3D representation floating in the air. Her internal mechanisms were as complicated as you would expect from a two hundred and fifty foot tall machine shrunk to the size of a regular human. The pockets of gas were an oddity to be sure, but it didn't compare to what the scanner had just found.

There, buried in Gipsy's chest where her nuclear core should have been was a large black spot. A space so dense the scanner couldn't penetrate it.

"So," Gipsy asked in a small voice. "What is that?"

"I have no idea."

-Linebreak-

Gerald Henderson yawned, eyes drooping as he fought to stay awake. He'd been working for hours... if sitting at a costumer help desk that was rarely ever needed was considered working. The pay was good and the hours were standard, but it was boring as hell.

Spiex was one of the best companies in the industry, leading the competition in all things scan-able. They had contracts with C-Sec and dozens of the other companies based on the Citadel, all wanting their top of the line scanners. To land a job with Spiex was the best things to happen to him, despite the boredom.

He yawned again, leaning back in his chair, staring at his terminal with half lidded eyes. Small alerts flashed across it's surface, messages and reports from their scanners all across the galaxy. It was policy that all of their scanners be connected to a main server, both to provide the data to recognize materials and to allow them to update the server with anything new that they found.

That was also part of Gerald's job. On top of being costumer support, he also monitored the main server. It wasn't anything difficult. The most existing thing that had happened was when a scanner had failed to recognize a new type of red sand, which had sent alarms blaring across his screen. But that hadn't happened in years.

He was just beginning to drop off to sleep when his terminal started bleeping with an alert. He blearily opened one eye and glanced at the screen. The flashing words instantly drove away his drowsiness.

"Data overload?" he murmured, straightening in his chair. That had never happened before. Sure the scanners sometimes had problems with materials like hard lead, but not enough to cause an overload.

Entering his administration password into the server, he browsed through the resent scans that had just taken place, searching for the one with the overload. He soon found it and pulled it up, then gaped at what it was.

It was a mech unlike anything he'd ever seen. Large and bulky, with a bucket shaped head, the armor was so thick the system was having trouble getting any deeper.

He blinked rapidly, then scrambled to save the data to separate file. He knew some people who might be interested in this. As he did, the alerts vanished as the scan was cancelled.

"No no no no," he muttered. "Bring it back, bring it back."

As if his own fairy godmother decided to grant his wish, the monstrous machine came back... no, it was a different one. This time, as the scan progressed, he saved it all, watching in growing excitement as more of the machine came to light. He didn't know what the red spot were or what the black anomaly in it's chest was, but some others might.

After triple checking the scan was saved, flicked on his omni-tool and called a number he'd been giving a long time ago. He waited impatiently as the ringtone sounded, then brightened as a voice spoke.

"_Hello, welcome to Certa pharmaceutical. How may I help you?_"

"Uhhh, yes," he replied awkwardly, trying to remember the pass phrase he'd been given. "My, uh, wife has been having some troubles with the pills you prescribed us."

"_I see,_" the voice said. "_Which ones, exactly?_"

"The ones for pet allergies."

"_For which animal?_"

"Dogs."

The voice paused. "_How many heads does __your__ dog have?_"

He swallowed nervously. "Three."

"_Transferring you now._"

The line went dead, leaving him waiting in nervous silence. He had never called this line before. His... second job was something he rarely thought about. It payed him well and only required him to keep an eye on things, reporting in when necessary.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the line let out a burst of static before a toneless voice sounded. "_Agent Henderson, your report is unscheduled. State your purpose or your contract will be terminated._"

"Uh," he stammered. "I, uh, found something good, like, really good. And I, uh, thought it was too good to wait for the next report."

A short silence followed his words. "_I see. Send the files to this address._"

He did so without hesitation. The long silence that followed left him a nervous wreak as the controller examined the scan.

"_Interesting,_" the voice said at last. "_Thank you, agent Henderson. You will be well compensated for your contribution. The Illusive Man will be pleased._"

-Linebreak-

The garbage reeked of something terrible, she was just to busy to think of it. Aniya grimaced as she crawled through another pile of junk. She could feel some sort of wet gunk getting smeared on her chest plate and tried not to think about what it was. Around her the mountains of garbage towered over head, lit by the occasional strobe light hanging from the ceiling far above.

While most considered the lower levels to be inhabited by the Blood Pack and other unsavoury groups, they would be wrong to think it was the very bottom of the station. Beneath the Vorcha infested basement was a place that very few people outside of Omega even knew about and even few people on Omega even cared to know about: The garbage bay.

A truly massive place miles long and filled to brim with trash that had built up over thousands of years. It was like stepping onto another world. The piles of trash reached to the ceiling, hundreds of feet high, forming canyons and hills of all shapes and sizes.

Few, if any, came down here willingly. To think you could find a fortune in the garbage was stupid, as many had found out. The only people how managed to make it down here were scavengers, rooting through the fresh dumps that came down through tubes in the ceiling for anything valuable to survive. It was hard life, even harder then in the upper levels where gang wars were common and you could die from a stray bullet.

At least, that's how it had been a short while ago. The scavenger business had all but dried up in the most unexpected of ways. She had gotten a tip from one of her old contacts, a weapons maker, about shipments of scrap metal coming in from the scavengers down below coming to a halt.

This wasn't uncommon. With different groups fighting over whatever they could find the shipments tended to be sporadic and varying in quantity. But never before had there been a total black out of all recycled materials coming from the garbage bay. Since raw materials were hard to get on Omega some relied on the stuff scavengers were able to sell; scrap metal, broken mods, anything that once had value. Some groups of scavs were well off because of this, managing to pull a profit despite the odds.

But now, the garbage bay had gone completely silent. Every day things went in, but now nothing was coming out. Her contact had been desperate enough to send a group of hired mercs to see what they could find for him. When they too sent silent, her contact asked her as a favor to find out what happened and, if possible, if a way to help scavenge his business.

She accepted. She owed it to him for all the help he gave her all those years ago.

On her way down her mission had changed from simple recovery to espionage. Rising Maw troops filled the area. Every entrance to the garbage bay was barricaded and guarded by no less then twenty heavily armed Krogan.

Being part of the GI-7 anything the Maws did was her business, her contact could wait. She got in easily enough, and it would be next to impossible to track her through he mountainous garbage piles. Now she was just sneaking around, looking for any trace of what the Maws were guarding.

She thanked the Goddess for her helmet covering up the smell as she crawled through another pile of wet refuse. How the scavs could stand to be down here she didn't know.

As she reached the top of a hill she stopped to take her barrings and noticed for the first time a glow over the next rise. She looked up and saw the lights far above had burned out long ago. That must be what she was looking for.

Growing more careful with her movements, she crept forward, Black Widow clutched tightly in her hands. It took her longer then expected, moving slowly so as not to disrupt her active camouflage or any of the precarious piles of trash. When she finally made it to the top she froze, spellbound at the sight before her.

The hill she had just crested stood over a bare patch of deck plating three square kilometers big, clear of the trash that had covered it's surface for the past thousands of years. In this was a camp made up of thousands of prefabs, all bearing the markings of Volvan Colonial Supplies. Around it all was stretched a chain-link fence with sniper towers equipped with strobe lights set up every fifty feet. Barricades and other means of cover lined the fences as well, making the camp seem more like a fortress then anything else.

Then she saw the people.

Staggering between the prefabs were hundreds of slaves, pushing crates filled with scrap under the watchful eye of Krogan guards. As she watched, she noticed a large group of slaves along with their guards returning through a gate in the fence. They had large satchels strapped to their backs, filled to the brim with scrap metal. The stopped just inside the perimeter, struggling to stay standing under their loads as Krogan moved in and dug through their bags. Then they divided the slaves into two groups, apparently by what they had gathered most of. With prodding, the first group followed an escort to a small courtyard with tables set up where they proceeded to dump their loads. The second group, however, were led deeper into the camp towards the largest of the prefabs. They had smokestacks stuck to their roofs that belched black smoke into the air. The slaves were led inside, and she lost sight of them.

Still reeling from what she was seeing, she noticed that only half the camp was filled with slaves. The other half was filled with Krogan. Thousands of them.

Grey armor clashed with black as they mingled together, doing who knows what. But what really caught her attention was the vast courtyard in the very center, where no less then six thousand Krogan were pressed shoulder to shoulder for inspection.

Through her rifle scope, she could see that their armor and weapons were new, shinning under the lights of the camp. A great pit started to form in her gut, just as a figure flashed across her scope. Curious, she tracked it and beheld the biggest monster of a Krogan strolling along the line, no less then ten feet tall. Beside it was one of the smallest Krogan she'd ever seen, looking more like a child alongside the massive beast. As she watched they stopped, turned to face each other and exchange some words.

As she tried to read their lips, she never noticed the near invisible blurs that slowly approached from behind. There was a sharp pain at the back of her head, and she know no more.

* * *

**Again, this took way to long.**

**I am honestly quite disappointed with myself. I had originally planned for Rising Maw to be a lot longer, but found I just couldn't do it. So this will be the condensed version. Get to Shepard as soon as possible where the plot of mass effect can support my struggling imagination.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

**DJ out!**


	13. The Rising Maw Part 7

Her head burned as though the fires of hell were all compressed inside her skull. Aniya gritted her teeth, determined to let nothing leak through her steely expression. She did, however, spat out a glob of blood from her split lip onto the blood stained table before her. Seated across from her was the same monster of a Krogan she'd seen earlier through her scope, only now he seemed bigger in person.

She wasn't too sure how she even got here in the first place. One moment she'd been scoping out the fortress in the scrap yard before she'd been knocked out, then she woke up here, tied hand and foot to a chair. She didn't know how much time had passed since then, they'd taken her omni-tool, along with all her weapons but leaving her armor on. But the real trump card they had was the slave collar wrapped around her neck. A piece of tech from Batarian space, made specifically for Asari to nullify their biotics. With that active, she was defenceless, and there was no help coming for her. But that didn't stop her from trying to find a way to escape. There were few, if any. One thing was for sure, she thought bitterly, Volvan certainly took no shortcuts when it came to their equipment. The Prefab she was locked up in was built solidly, with a reinforced door, strong window shutters and heavy encryption on both. There was no way she was getting out of here, even if that Krogan wasn't here to watch her.

She shifted irritably on her chair, trying to find a comfortable way to sit with her hands bound behind her back. There were none, of course, and she resumed glaring at the Krogan. Neither of them had said a word yet, either in insult or interrogation. But then again, she hadn't spoken a single syllable in years.

The Krogan sighed, his old wrinkled face contorting in a satisfied grin before he raised his arm and activated an omni-tool. _Her_ omni-tool.

"I must say, I'm impressed," he said slowly, his rich, practiced voice filling the Prefab as he studied her personal information. "I haven't heard of anyone that could evade Krual's Spec-Ops for that long. Even if it was unintentional."

Aniya didn't answer, but her hard eyes never left his face.

"But then again, they had you from the start. A sensor net for tracking escaped slaves works just as well for locating spies, don't you think?"

Her mouth stubbornly remained shut.

Getting nothing, the Krogan hummed deep in his throat and returned to her omni-tool. There was silence for a minute before he spoke up again.

"Your dedication to Aria for the past decade is... commendable, but misguided all the same. I mean, what were you even hoping to gain from it all? Money? Power? No," he said, narrowing his eyes as he studied her. "No. Something more... personal then that."

Though her face remained an impregnable mask, Aniya silently sighed at the Krogan attempts. Many had tried and all had failed to get a reaction out of her. Her omni-tool was wiped clean of all but the most basic of information about her, making her past impossible to track. If he thought to torture her, he'd learn what dozens of others had learned before him: She never opened her mouth, never screamed, and never said a word. She was as silent as she was ten years ago, and hadn't uttered a single word since.

If the Krogan thought he could get anything out of her he was dead wrong.

"But," he continued, "for all your service, all your hard work, what has it given you. What has Aria given you in return?"

He paged through her files and she silently cursed, remembering the various documents she had forgotten to delete. Notes from informants, contacts and her paychecks.

"A lot spent on information," he noted, raising an eyebrow. "And all of it revealing... nothing. But why?"

He shut down her device and straightened in his chair, eyes studying her closer than ever. "What are you trying to find."

The room fell deathly quiet as the Krogan fell in to speculation. After a full minute, his eyes became distant, as though remembering something before his face spilt into a triumphant grin.

"I believe we got off on the wrong foot, as the humans would say," he said leaning back, the grin still on his face. "You can call me General Titanus. Pleased to meet you Aniya Navari. I would shake your hand, but..." he motioned to her bonds, "you appear to be rather... tied up at the moment."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at that.

"Bad puns aside, I must say it is a pleasure to have you here in person. Ex-Huntress and daughter of a recently deceased Matriarch. A tragedy in itself, but when her very own daughter runs off before the funeral leaving the father a frantic mess, then things just get ridiculous."

She glared at him.

"But I digress," he drawled, waving a hand dismissively. "What you have done and what can do are two very different things. So, I will make you an offer, Asari."

He leaned across the table, still grinning. "I will send you home safely, if you can do me a small favor. You see, Aria has such tight control over the landing platforms and docks around Afterlife that we are finding it hard to land there. Anti-aircraft guns and all that. You get me the codes to those guns, and I send you home, unharmed."

She glared all the more. She wasn't going back, not yet. She still wasn't finished what she'd set out to do. It pained her to ignore the grief filled letters from her father, but she wasn't finished. She hadn't found what she was looking for yet.

"Hmm," Titanus hummed as he took in her stone cold expression. "I see you have other things on your mind. Very well, I'll sweeten the deal."

He paused, the grin still on his face as he took in every pore on her face, every twitch she made before he slowly said: "Get me those codes... and I'll give you your daughter back."

If he was hoping for a reaction, he got more then he dreamed of. Her back went rigid, eyes widening and nostrils flaring as she sucked in air. That wasn't possible. And how did he even figure it out?

"Surprised?" Titanus asked, triumphantly. "Imagine my own surprise when I first saw you getting dragged in. I thought to myself, 'isn't there I slave we have that looks exactly like that.' I mean, how old would she be now? Twenty two, isn't it?"

She nodded mutely, too shocked to even think about denying him.

"Right on the dot. I even took the time to ask her personally. It was… interesting to learn that she was one of the few to be taken captive on that colony. The rest... well, who has any idea what goes through the mind of a drugged up slaver. And do you know what the best part is?" He leaned in so close she could smell his putrid breath. "She's still fresh. No one has had a chance to taste her, if you know what I mean. Don't know if it was luck that we happened to show up when she was on sale. Granted, she was part of a package, but labour is labour, and she hasn't been broken yet."

He leaned back, leaving her, for the first time in ages, in stunned silence. "So here is my offer to you, Asari. You get me the codes, I give you your daughter back and let you leave."

Aniya could do nothing but stare in shock for a minute, her brain racing at unheard of speeds. Could he be telling the truth? Ten years she'd been looking for her ever since that fateful day that the colony was attacked. She had almost given up hope. But now, could she trust this Krogan.

She swallowed dryly, before her throat opening for the first time in years and she asked in a dry raspy voice; "how can I trust you?"

Titanus grinned again, activating his own omni-tool and pulling up a picture before holding it in front of her. As she laid eyes on it, she had to hold back a choked sob. It was her little Miya. She was filthy, clothed with rags, covered in small scratches and carrying a heavy pack of scrap metal... but it was her. By the Goddess, it was her!

She didn't care that she broke down, didn't care that her hard, cold eyes turned to tearful waterfalls or that she was doing it in front of this Krogan. In her eyes, he'd done more for her then ten years under Aria's employment.

She swallowed again. There was only one thing she could do.

"I'll do it."

-Linebreak-

"Are you sure that's wise," Xran asked, watching the Asari disappear over the mountains of garbage. "She could just be running for reinforcements."

"I don't think so," Titanus smiled. "Never underestimate the material instincts of an Asari. They will do anything for their runts. This one in particular."

They watched as the tiny form disappeared over the hills before they turned away from the main gate of the Chop Shop and started walking through the complex, past dozens of slaves dragging in scrap for the forges and headed for the headquarters in the middle.

"And what about her daughter?" Xran asked. "Do you intend to free her as well?"

"Of course," Titanus replied. "If you haven't heard the gossip in the slave pens there's talk of a warehouse on Omega that takes in runaway slaves, if they can make it there. Then they try to get them home, for a cost, of course. And if they come off a rich family then they reel in the big credits."

"What does that have to do with this?"

"The story has been circulating in the slave bunk rooms and we have even had a few hopefuls who tried to get there while harvesting. They didn't get far. No doubt the runt has heard about it too."

"How is it relevant?"

"Fortification. Rumour is nearly twenty slaver groups busted their asses trying to break in. The place is more heavily fortified then Afterlife and it's been standing for the past fifty years. Problem is, we can't find it, and only the slaves have any idea where it, and they'd rather die than give up the only hope they have."

"So you plan to release her, then follow her there?"

"Something like that."

They reached the steps leading up to the main building and stopped on the threshold.

"And this all ties in with 'Omega of Omega,' I take it?" Xran asked as Titanus mounted the steps to the door.

"Of course," he replied, pausing on the first step. "When Aria starts to lose her shit it'll be best to have a fortified position close to the front lines. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a little gift to give to our little 'runaway.'"

He walked up to the door, which opened silently as he approached, then paused again halfway through it.

"The next few days will be glorious," he said in an awe filled tone. He glanced back over his shoulder at Xran. "You will be present for the dawning of a new age. A new dawn for the Krogan. You should be proud. Few will reap the true benefits of the new Krogan Empire."

Giving him one last grin, Titanus stepped inside the HQ, the door shutting behind him, leaving Xran outside.

"Indeed," Xran muttered to himself. "A new dawn for the Krogan. But who's Krogan?" He glared up the door. "The Krogan people, or _your_ Krogan?"

The door remained as inanimate as ever, and offered no reply. Snorting, Xran turned and headed off to his own personal quarters. He needed to make a call.

-Linebreak-

"Still no word from Aniya?"

"Nothing."

Kriln sighed, then winced as it stretched his bandages. He had recovered well after the hurried retreat from Naven's warehouse. The explosion had only singed his armor and stopped any fatal shrapnel, high quality stuff as it was, and burned the right side of his face. It was coated with bandages and layer of medi-gel, but it was healing slowly, and with his hearing still rather addled he was hardly fit to go back into the field.

"We could probably wait for her for another day or two," he continued, a bit louder then necessary. "Phil, any progress?"

Phil frowned and started fiddling with his omni-tool. "Temporary accounts. My worst enemy."

"Can you still do it? Aria has started breathing down my neck since Naven was been hit. Apparently he supplies some of her best toys."

As the two started bickering back and forth, Crimson crossed his arms and tried to relax. It had been a long day and a half since acquiring the scanner and he hadn't gotten a lick of sleep since the day before. The action of keeping his optic online becoming more forced then usual. He quietly resisted the urge to rub it, some human motion left from his pilots no doubt, and fought, once again, to keep his eye online. It was starting to get hard. The wall he was leaning against was beginning to feel so comfortable. Glancing to the left, he saw that Cherno had given in and was slumped against the cold metal, a low purring sound coming from his core as he slumbered. How he managed to stay standing was anyone's guess, but he wasn't about to knock him over.

To his left, Striker was in much the same boat as he was. The silver Jaeger's head kept drifted downward to rest on his chest before jerking up as he forced himself back to awareness.

And Gipsy...

He sighed as he looked across the table, where Gipsy was standing ramrod straight beside the door, hugging her new Revenent to her chest. She hadn't been acting normal since the scan was taken, gripping the weapon like a lifeline.

He couldn't really blame her.

Nothing, nothing in the whole extranet, from the lowly periodic table, to the notes and books of the highest scientists and chemists in the galaxy had any mention of the gas that resided within her. The basic instruments in his omni-tool were no help, saying the same thing that the scanner did: It was everything and yet nothing at the same time. Every single element on the periodic table was present in gas form, drifting in and out of each other, including some that it had never seen before.

But that was nothing compared to the thing filling her core. Even after hours of searching the extranet for any trace of what it was, he hadn't found a single thing. He had poured over the readings for hours, Gipsy hovering over his shoulder with palpable appreciation. It made no sense. But then again, everything about them made no sense.

He had almost welcomed the message from Kriln, telling them to get their metal asses over the HQ, but then the truly hard part came: Trying to stay awake while listening to reports and statistics.

Ever since their little raid on the outpost the Maws had been busy. More troops had been deployed to the front lines on the lower levels, pushing the Blue Suns and Eclipse harder than ever, and gaining more territory by the day. More than that, it appeared that they were spearheading the attack in between the two factions, pushing through to attack Aria's turf directly. And it was working. Little by little they were getting closer, but from the looks of it their forces were thinning. Apparently that was what Aria was counting on. Get themselves spread too thin, then the Suns and Eclipse would wipe them out for her.

Crimson couldn't help but agree that it was a sound strategy, but something nagged at him from the back of his mind and he was too tired to think about it right now.

His eye snapped online and he groaned as he realized he'd drifted off. As he stretched his arms overhead, easing the growing aches in his joints, he noticed that both Phil and Kriln had left while he was out.

He blinked blearily. Enough was enough. Whatever it was Kriln wanted them for it could wait until tomorrow. He pushed off the wall with a groan and swayed as fatigue took a toll on his balance.

"Can we go now?" Striker groaned from beside him, voice lacking its usual snarky tone.

"I suppose so," Crimson replied sleepily, before reaching out and shook the shoulder of the sleeping Cherno. As soon as his hand left, the giant Russian swayed before pitching over and fell face first to the ground with a loud clang.

"Ugh," Striker groaned again as Cherno let out a sleepy rumble, trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard floor. "Too tired to... insult."

After a hazy moment of watching, Crimson lightly nudged Cherno in the side with his foot. "Come on, get up. We're going home."

The Russian rumbled, sounding dangerously close to a hibernating bear that had been woken by a hunter, but groggily crawled to his feet.

When the three had manged to pull themselves together enough to walk they started for the door where Gipsy stood waiting. She looked, Crimson thought, rather scared. Though he couldn't actively see it, he could feel her gaze glancing around nervously, searching for something he couldn't see.

Or maybe that was just his sleep deprived processors making up things.

With her in tow, the four of them stumbled from the warehouse, trying to look as threatening as possible as they made their way through the various streets and plazas before finding a sky-car terminal. The ride was a long, quiet one and Crimson had drifted off again before realizing that they had arrived at the apartment complex. The walk through the hallways took longer than it should have, none of them having the energy to manage a brisk walk before they arrived at their door.

The moment it opened, Striker, mustering some sort of inner energy, strolled forward, turned sharply into the burned out bedroom and disappeared from sight. A cloud of fine ash and dust billowed out of the doorway as the Jaeger collapsed onto the burned out bed before the door shut with a hiss.

Cherno didn't even make it that far. The moment his feet crossed the door's threshold he stiffened, then, with a sound like a falling tree, fell to the ground. He didn't bother to get up, and soon loud metallic snores echoed through the apartment.

Crimson had the will power to stay awake, just long enough to calculate the trajectory of his fall to land on the ruined couch before he shut off his optic and let gravity take over. He was out before he even hit the cushion.

He didn't know how long he'd been out, but the time from when he shut down to when he jerked awake seemed much too short. He wasn't dead tired anymore, but the thought of being robbed of a few more hours of blissful oblivion caused a surge of irritation to stir within him.

He slowly onlined his optic, glaring at the old cushion he lay on before pushing himself up. As he stood, stretching to get rid of the accumulated stiffness from sleep, he looked about, blinking away the last of the static and noticed Gipsy. She was sitting on the opposite side of the couch, perfectly still, save for the forever rotation of her turbine.

For a moment he thought she was asleep, still cradling her Revenent. But then her head slow turned and her visor glowed wearily as she took him in.

"Hello," she said, voice a curious mixture of exhaustion and vigilance.

"Hello to you too," he replied, sitting down beside her, making the tormented couch groan even worse. "How are you doing? Did you get a good sleep?"

"A bit," she nodded. Crimson noticed her hands tightening around the grip of her gun as she spoke, as if in reassurance.

"That's good," he said, shifting slightly. "So how are you feeling? You seemed... kind of jumpy last night-"

"This morning," she interrupted. "It's two in the afternoon now. Earth time."

"Ah." He looked away, trying to think of something to say when she beat him to the punch.

"Was I...really gone for two hours?" she asked softly. "I mean... when I _supposedly_ vanished?"

Crimson glanced back at her. Her grip on the Revenent seemed almost frantic, visor glowing with something he couldn't place. Hope? Panic?

"Yes," he answered slowly.

"Did you check?" she shot back. "I mean, really check? I could have been sleepwalking, or I could have been... I could've..." she trailed off with a strangled gasp, clutching the Revenent tighter.

"They can't be real," she whispered fanatically. "I couldn't have gone back there... not again... not again!"

"Gone back where?" Crimson asked slowly.

She instantly stiffened, back going ram-rod straight as her head turned so fast he could hear her internal components screech in protest.

"W-what?" she stammered. "I-I mean..."

"Gipsy," he said in a soft yet stern tone. "What happened?"

She stared at him, visor bright with fear and desperation.

"I..." she whispered before shaking her head. "Crimson, please stop. I don't... I don't..." Her vents heaved as a sob burst out. "I-it can't have happened... I couldn't have gone back... they... they..."

"Gipsy," Crimson said softly, reaching out and giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Gipsy, please, I only want to help. Who... _what_ are you taking about?"

Another sob escaped her. "I don't want it to be true... I don't..."

"Don't want what to be true?" he pressed calmly.

Her sobs stilled as her head slowly turned to face him. Then in a voice so quiet he could barely hear it, even with his advanced senses, said: "Them. That _they_ brought us here."

"They?" Crimson asked. "Who's the-"

His omni-tool call function beeped, startling them both. Grumbling, he checked the caller ID, not missing the relieved sigh from Gipsy. It was no number he recognized, but then again he didn't know a lot of people here to begin with. He briefly pondered if he should answer it, then, with a sigh, gave into his curiosity and pressed the accept call button.

"Who is this?" he asked stiffly when the device said the call was active.

There was silence for a few seconds before a raspy voice came over the line. "_Crimson Typhoon?_"

"Yes," he replied suspiciously, glancing over at Gipsy, who seemed to have recovered her composure quiet quickly with the change of subject. She shrugged at his questioning gaze before he asked; "who is this?"

There was a pause, then a heavy cough before the reply came. "_Aniya._"

"Aniya?" Crimson murmured to himself, racking his mind to remember who she was talking about before it came to him with a jolt. "The same Aniya from the GI-7?"

"_The same._"

"Okay," Crimson said. "Is there a reason why you called?"

Another pause, broken only by a deep sigh on the other end. "_I..._" she coughed dryly. "_I... would like to ask for a favor. A big one._"

"Uh," he glanced at Gipsy again, but the Asari didn't give him time.

"_Please,_" she was starting to sound desperate. "_There's no one I can trust here, no one that wouldn't sell __me__ out first chance they got._"

The two Jaegers shared a look. There was something in her voice, something they'd both heard before. A desperation that only came to the things you held dear. Whether it be a city or a single person, the intent was the same. It was as if a switch had flipped inside them and their minds shifted once again into the metallic knights that patrolled the oceans, ready to face anything that threatened them or the people they defended.

Gipsy gave a small nod, and Crimson couldn't help but admire her. Troubled though she was about... whatever was bothering her, there was still the call to duty that presided over all. He could feel it too, a tightening in his insides as his systems shifted into a more battle ready stance.

Looking down, he raised his omni-tool and said; "what do you need?"

-Linebreak-

"Wow. She wasn't kidding about it," Gipsy quipped, gazing at the building Anyia had directed them too.

"I know, it kind of reminds me of the Shatterdome," Crimson replied.

Gipsy hummed in agreement, holding her Revenent loosely in one hand, while the other hung by her side as she took in the scenery.

The warehouse, if it could even be called that, was an imposing hulk of grey steel, interspaced with a few boarded up windows and doors, only one of which was still able to open. And though they might have been invisible to the naked eye, only with his enhanced sight was Crimson able to pick out the hidden squares of metal that could slide away to reveal turrets and other nasty surprises.

This certainly was the place, according to Aniya's description. The place itself had been a nightmare to find, if not for Aniya's directions they might still be wandering the upper levels wondering where to begin. Maybe that's why the place was so deserted. The only soul they'd seen in this area was a young, ragged Asari crawling out of a dusty vent. She'd taken one look at them and ran the other way as fast as her feet could carry her.

A runaway slave, Crimson had guessed, and the way she'd ran matched up with their directions to the last turn. So what was this place anyway?

It was just the two of them this time, given the nature of the Asari's request they didn't think it necessary to wake the others and drag them along. He doubted they could wake Cherno anyway, who still lay sleeping in front of the door. He was one of those people who could make sleeping look like an art, as evidenced when Gipsy tripped on him going out and all she got was a snore from his prone form.

They didn't even bother checking on Striker, still in the burned out bedroom, who probably would have complained that they were going in circles again. He would have also called this whole thing boring and a waste of time. As it was, Crimson was silently questioning the whole thing himself. Apparently when they had been deciding on what to do, Aniya had taken their silence as a negative. She had almost broken down into tears over the channel, something he had never suspected from a hardened mercenary like her, before Crimson's words had registered on her.

The mission she then gave them was… surprisingly simple. Go to some place and ask if someone was there, a girl named Miya Navari. When he asked why Aniya couldn't do it herself, she replied with something along the lines of; "because if they lied to me, I'll kill them." He had tried to ask who 'they' were, but he got about the same as he got out of Gipsy; nothing. It irked him to no end.

But, not being one to go back on his word, he'd followed her instructions on how to get to the place with Gipsy in tow. On the way he tried to ask Gipsy more about her vague reference to 'they,' but got nothing in return. So instead, he'd taken time to memorize the instructions Aniya had given them on how to get inside the fortress-like warehouse until he was confident he could get them in without getting shot at. According to Aniya these people didn't take liars and infiltrators very well.

Finally having enough of just staring at the place, Crimson squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and strolled towards the one door that was left uncovered. He could feel Gipsy behind him as he raised his hand and knocked three times on certain spot on the exposed metal.

They waited for about five seconds before a small slit on the door opened and two beady eyes glared out. The slit was a little under eye level for them, about seven feet, and the eyes inside were looking downward, as if expecting someone smaller. So it was rather amusing to watch the orbs slowly follow his legs up until they made eye contact. The eyes widened briefly in surprise before narrowing.

"What do you want, scum?" said a rough voice that could only belong to a Krogan.

"I hear the Salarians here are quite tasty," Crimson replied, grimacing slightly at the morbid passphrase. "Maybe you should fire up the barbeque and throw a Bloodrave."

The eyes narrowed to slits and Crimson worried he'd gotten something wrong.

"Who sent you?" the voice growled.

"Aniya," Crimson said. "I'm sorry, but she didn't tell us her last name."

The eyes glared for a moment more before the peephole slammed shut. A second later the sound of clanging and turning locks drifted out from the other side before the door slowly creaked open on old, rusted hinges. On the other was a Krogan in red armor, holding an ancient looking Claymore shotgun.

"What do you want?" he asked, hefting the weapon.

Crimson briefly considered the time it would take to disarm him before replying. "Aniya wanted us to check if someone was here."

"Who?"

"Miya Navari."

"Oh, her," the Krogan grunted, moving away from the door frame. "Come inside. But be warned, if you try anything, I'll blast your fancy ass to bits and sell you as scrap. Clear?"

"Crystal," Crimson nodded as he stepped inside, Gipsy following close behind. When they were through, the Krogan shut the door and barred it with thick beams of steel before taking a key from somewhere on his armor and inserting it into a hidden slot. Crimson heard the sound of deadbolts closing in at least several different places.

"Nice security," he said as the Krogan deposited the key in a pouch around his waist.

The Korgan grunted. "It's the one security system that is truly unhackable. Nothing _to_ hack." He turned and stalked past them, motioning for them to follow.

The inside of the warehouse was less impressive then the outside. Rather empty, save for a few large piles of crates, most likely filled with supplies. There were few doors leading out and some stairs that led up to a catwalk that stretched around the walls, about twenty feet off the ground. On it resided a large collection of Humans, Asari and a few Turians, all with drawn weapons staring down upon them. Crimson could even see a few mounted turrets lining the railing.

As he watched, he noticed a pair of Asari whispering to each other before one dashed to an open crate beside her and pull out a rocket launcher, handed it to her companion before taking out another for herself. He grinned with amusement, but the action struck a chord inside him. What kind of operation could they be running to warrant this kind of security?

His fists clenched as the thought that they might be slavers crossed his mind.

The Krogan led them to a door which opened automatically, leading them to a short hallway with a door on the far end. The two Jaegers silently followed their guide as he led them up and through it into a control room of sorts. Glowing terminals and holograms filled the medium sized room, along with a large holo-table in the center. The room was empty save for two Asari. One, clad in a suit of light armor with a rifle attached to her back was strolling around the holo-table while a box of holographic light followed her around. In its glowing boundaries, the words 'Archangel' and 'call online' predominated. The second Asari, Crimson realised with a jolt, was the same one he and Gipsy had encountered on the way here.

Now that he could see her in proper lighting, he winced at her condition. Though he couldn't exactly place the age of an Asari, living for a thousand years and all that, he couldn't help but think that she was young. Very young. If he had to take a guess he would have said she had just left her teen years. She was thin, appearing more like a skeleton with skin draped over it, covered in scratches and bruises and her bare feet were a mess of scar tissue and blood, as if she had been forced to walk on broken glass for weeks on end.

She _was_ a slave then.

He felt his hands tighten into fists, and the only thing that stopped him from _demanding_ she'd be freed was the fact that she was wolfing down a protein bar as if she hadn't eaten in days. She finished it in seconds and reached to a small box by her side for another before she saw the Jaegers. She froze, eyes widening in fear.

"Are you sure you can't get us anything?" The voice drew Crimson's attention away, as the Asari in armor starting talking into empty air with her back to them.

"_We've tried_," a voice said from the holo-table, who he identified as Turian. "_All the ways are packed, and the slavers are cracking down hard. They're practically going for anyone who doesn't have gun_."

The Asari leaned heavily on the table, sighing. "I thought you cleared the paths a day ago?"

"_We did. Twice. They're getting desperate, short supply and all that. I wouldn't recommend taking the main roads either, you have a big enough bounty on your head_."

"Not as big as yours," the Asair replied without humor.

"_Well, yeah. But then again, I'm doing things far more devious then you are_."

"Back to the point," she said forcefully. "Can we go along with the plan or not?"

"_No. Everywhere is too hot, and if you __dodged__ every slaver band on the station you would miss the pickup_."

"Then we leave early."

"_And run the risk of someone selling you out. Listen, just take my advice and use the trucks. You can get past them all and none of them would be the wiser."_

"The only safe way through is the Afterlife passage, and if we go through there that's where we'll end up. Aria's guns will blow us out of the sky, you know that. Expired heavy transport pass or some other bullshit."

"Boss," the Krogan grunted, stepping up beside her. "We got company."

The Asari growled, sounding dangerously like a Krogan for a second. "What now?" she asked, whirling around and saw the Jaegers for the first time. Her irritation vanished and worry etched itself on her face.

"Archangel," she said, never breaking eye contact with Crimson's single glowing optic. "We may have bit of a problem."

"_Oh boy. Is it that weird Hanar again? The one that kept asking for Blasto? She was creepy_."

"No," the Asari replied, slowly.

"_That one Batarian with three eyes that kept demanding you sell his soul back after you poked one out and told him you stole his soul… that was actually kind of funny_."

"You heard of those new mechs Aria got?"

"_Yeah, what about th_…" the voice trailed off as the realization sunk in. "_They're standing right in front of you, aren't they_?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "I'll call you back."

She waved a hand, severing the connection before straightening her posture and addressed them.

"Right," she said, looking Crimson in the eye. "What do you what? Urdnot Cralk let you in, but he always lets people in who knows his _password_."

The Krogan, Cralk, scowled but said nothing.

"So what do you want?" the Asari repeated, trying to look intimidating but failing due to the fact that Crimson was a good three feet taller than her. "Or better yet, who sent you? A lot of people know about us but damn few can find us, and those who do guard it with their lives. So who sent you… mech."

"_Is this going to become a running gag_?" Gipsy asked over the radio, glancing at Crimson. "_We are Jaegers. Y. E. A. G. E. R. S. You would think people would remember it by now._"

"_Probably_," Crimson replied, "_and you spelt it wrong_." Then to the Asari: "We were sent by Aniya. She wanted us to make sure someone was here."

Out of the corner of his eye, Crimson saw the younger Asari's eyes widen again, this time in shock.

The armored Asari didn't look convinced. "There are a lot of people named Aniya. It's a fairly common name."

"And how many of them could have given us the password… if it could even be called that." Crimson shot back, calmly.

"You have something against my password?" Cralk growled.

"It's revolting."

"Enough," the Asari sighed, before gabbing a finger towards Crimon's broad chest. "Right, you have me convinced. Yes, only one Aniya knows where we are and we… understand each other. More than that, she told us about you a few days ago when she last stopped by."

The finger dropped and she sighed deeply. "So let me guess; she wanted you to check to see if someone made it here: Niya Navari?"

"Correct," Crimson nodded slowly. "How did you know that?"

"She comes by asking every week," she said, a sadness creeping onto her voice. "It's a long story" Then a small smile crossed her lips as she gesturing at the younger Asari. "But now you should probably call her, tell her the wait is over."

Giving the younger Asari a dubious look, Crimson raised his arm and brought his omni-tool online, keying in the number Aniya had left him. A moment passed as the call connected, before a hesitant, raspy voice spoke. "_Is she…_?"

"She's here," Crimson replied, watching as the apparent Miya's face broke out in joyous recognition. "But who-"

The call ended with a sharp click.

"…is she," he finished lamely.

Cralk sighed, holstering his shotgun as he headed for the front door. "I'll go let her in," he grunted. The door shut behind him, leaving an uneasy silence. It stretched on for minutes, the two Asari watching the metallic warriors with different shades of worry and nervousness. Crimson simply examined the room and the various displays floating around, all the while sneaking glances at the younger one, wondering what she was all about. Gipsy, on the other hand just stood there, fiddling with her Revenent. If there had been incinerary mods installed why not something else? The innocent act only seemed to aggravate the older Asari even more, but she couldn't seem to muster the courage to ask the machine to stop.

This continued on for a while, before the door opened again and Aniya barged in, her wide eyes scanning the area with a feverish intensity.

"Mom," Miya gasped, then yelped as she was scooped up into a bone crushing hug. Then she relaxed into it, years of pain, hardship and despair breaking through as she cried, wrapping her arms around her mother as the dams opened up.

"_Aww,_" Crimson heard Gipsy coo over the radio. "_That's so sweet._"

He nodded silently in agreement, a strange warmth blossoming in his chest.

"_Probably a good thing we didn't bring Striker. __H__e would have ruined the moment._"

He nodded again, a small grin lighting up his optic.

"I never thought you'd come," Miya whispered, head buried in her mother's shoulder.

"I would never give up on you," Aniya whispered back, tears beginning to leak from her eyes as she clutched Miya closer. "Never."

A deep sigh drew Crimson's eye away from the rejoicing pair and he saw the armored Asari leaning against the holo-table, a broad smile on her face. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced over to him and frowned, as if daring him to break the spell. Giving her a shrug, he looked back to see the two separate reluctantly. Tears still fresh in her eyes, Aniya looked over her shoulder to him and whispered "thank you. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Crimson replied simply, unable to find the words for anything else.

As she turned back to her daughter, heavy footfall alerted him to Gipsy moving beside him.

"_Does it make you feel good inside?_" she asked, motioning to the pair with her free hand. "_I mean, a good feeling that you just can't describe but you want it more?_"

"_Yeah,_" he replied. She had summed it up perfectly.

Quite suddenly there was a loud pounding of footsteps as someone charged down the hallway to the room. A moment later Cralk stuck his head in, shotgun ready in his hands. "We got trouble, boss," he growled.

"What?" the armored Asari asked, pushing off the table.

"Garbage haulers, lots of them. They're setting down outside the sector."

"Garbage haulers?" the Asari raised an eyeridge. "What the hell are they doing up here?"

Cralk shrugged. "No idea. But we counted at least fifteen setting down."

"G-garbage haulers?" Everyone turned to look at a stammering Miya and the look of horror that slowly worked its way into her eyes. "F-from the garbage bays?"

"Yeah," Cralk replied suspiciously. "Where else?"

"W-we were working on them for the past three weeks," Miya continued, a slight tremble shaking her knees. "They were f-forcing us to convert the holds and…"

"Convert the holds?" Cralk repeated slowly, before realization dawned on him. "Troop transports!" he bellowed, before storming back the way he came, shouting orders into his omni-tool.

"How did they know where we are? Did you lead them here?!" the armored Asari demanded, drawing an SMG from her back and pointing it at Crimson. He could hear Gipsy tense beside him, raising her Revenent to counter the possible threat, despite how ineffective a Tempest SMG would be against them both. The thing probably couldn't even scratch them for how much power it had.

Crimson was about to reply and deny her accusation, when he noticed Miya slowly raise her hand to eye level as horror flashed across her face. Then he saw the metal band wrapped around her wrist. It looked like a simple omni-tool, but he doubted any slave would have been allowed to wear one for any reason. She didn't look like a thief, and so far as he knew no one gave out of charity on Omega.

He stepped forward, gently grabbing her wrist in a firm yet light grip before she could run, not an easy feat when you have the equivalent of metal pincers for hands. Crimson could feel fear emanating from her as he towered over her petite form. He could also feel the barrels of two different guns aiming at his head. Aniya had drawn her sniper rifle so fast he'd barely even seen it come out, but the powerful Black Widow aiming at the weakest part of his anatomy left him feeling a little nervous.

"Let. Her. Go." Anyia growled, voice made of pure steel and her aim never wavering.

He ignored her, despite his instincts screaming at him to counter the threat, and looked down at the frightened Asari. She blanched as his glowing eye met hers as he pointed at the metal band.

"Where did you get this?" he asked gently.

"T-the Krogan gave it to me," she stammered. "H-he said he was letting me go t-then he just gave it to me."

Crimson sighed, air blasting out of his vents as she confirmed his suspicion. "Tracking device," he murmured, slipping the band off her wrist before crushing it in his hand.

Releasing her, he turned to face Aniya, the barrel of her sniper rifle still in his face. He opened his hand and showed her the remnants of the devious device. "I wasn't going to hurt her," he said softly as he let the fragments fall to the floor.

She glared, but didn't respond as she returned her rifle to its magnetic holster.

Suddenly an explosion echoed throughout the warehouse, followed closely by a shrill, blaring alarm.

"Front door has been breached!" the armored Asari shouted, turning back to the holo-table and frantically tapping buttons. "Ramirez, how are we doing?"

"_Good so far,_" a disembodied voice said from the mass of holograms, gunshots ringing in the background. "_We started moving people before they showed up and got them to the garage, but we- dammit!_" There was a burst of gun fire, followed by a quick order to keep them pinned before the voice came back. "_Sorry, I've never seen Krogan move like that before! We're holed up in the garage right now, trying to push to the evac point but we're pinned down!_"

"Forget about it," the Asari said. "Warm up the trucks and load everyone up, we're leaving."

"_What?!_" the voice shouted. "_But what about the guns? They'll tear us apart!_"

"We'll work out something," the Asari retorted. "Maybe we can organize a strike team to go in and…"

"The guns won't be a problem," Aniya rasped, going over and hugging her daughter before adding ruefully; "I made sure of that."

To her credit, the Asari only raised an eyeridge before turning back to the holograms. "Load everyone up Ramirez, we're coming to you."

"_Got it, we'll- shit!_" More gun fire echoed over the line and through the building. "_They're pushing forward! How the fuck are they moving this fast?!_"

"Just hang on," the Asari growled, loading a fresh thermal clip in her SMG before turning to the two Jaegers. "We could really use your help too."

Without a word, Crimson raised all three of his arms and allowed his buzz-saws to deploy, the sinister sound of the spinning blades filling the room. He didn't know what was making him do this, but he had a good idea who was attacking the warehouse. And though he didn't know yet what they were doing here, the fact they had helped Aniya reunite with her lost daughter struck a chord inside him, that their cause was something worth fighting for.

"Tell us where to go," he said grimly.

"Count me in," he heard Gipsy say beside him.

If she was thankful for their support she didn't show it, only pointed to the door. "Head back to the Atrium. Cralk will tell you what to do."

Nodded, he strode past her, the door opening with a quiet hiss as he walked out. He didn't need to look back to know that Gipsy was following him.

"Think it's the Maws?" she asked, hefting her rifle in preparation.

"I'd bet my saws on it," he replied dryly, picking up the pace as the sounds of gunfire grew louder. At the end of the hallway the door opened to scene of complete chaos. Bullets were flying everywhere interspaced by the occasional explosion as a grenade detonated, followed by the screams of the wounded.

In seconds he had glanced around and took stock of the whole situation. The door that they had entered by had been blown opened and the invading force was streaming in. Krogan, lots of them, all clad in the grey armor of the Rising Maws and all armed with a variety of heavy weaponry: Revenent machine guns, Black Widow Sniper rifles and Claymore shotguns. It wasn't the only thing they were equipped with, however. At least two dozen of them had large rectangular shields, reminiscent of old riot shields back on earth held in one hand, protecting them from hostile fire while the other hand returned the favor with Tempest SMGs.

Given the lack of available cover, the shield units were using their gear to great effectiveness. The twelve were arranged in a circle, shields locked and tilted upward, blocking most of the fire from the catwalk while their SMGs kept most of the shooters suppressed while more hostiles poured in from the breached door. Very rapidly the number of attackers were outstripping the defenders, the Humans, Turians and Asari simply not able to keep up with the amount of fire power directed at them.

Tearing his gaze away from the worsening situation, Crimson suddenly noticed Cralk, the Krogan who had let them in grappling with a grey counterpart. The two were fighting for control of Cralk's heavy shotgun, and the Maw soldier appeared to be winning. His arms were a blur of movement as he punched Cralk again and again, dodging or blocking every attempt of retaliation. Then the Maw feinted before kicking his opponent in the knee. There was a sickening crack of bone as the joint bent back on itself, but Cralk only grunted in annoyance, a sound that was silenced as the Maw drove his fist under his chin.

That was as far as the fight got, however. With a great push, Crimson launched himself forward, his single left arm drawn back in preparation. To late the Maw soldier heard the Jaeger coming and suffered the consensuses. The powerful buzz saw/plasma cannon struck it under the chin. Crimson could hear the dull crack as armor and bone shattered under the literal tones of force behind the blow. The Krogan died almost instantly, the corpse lifting off the ground, flying a full five feet before landing hard on it's back.

"Nice," Cralk grunted, steadying himself on his injured leg as he nodded at his metallic savior.

Before Crimson could reply a shot flew past his head. The death of their comrade hadn't gone unnoticed by the other Maws. One of the shield units had turned to face him, SMG spraying him with light shots that simply bounced off his armor. But it wasn't that he was concerned about, it was the five others toting Revenent heavy machine guns turning his way.

His body seemed to move on pure instinct, turning and sprinting as fast as he could as shots whizzed past. Ahead, he saw Cralk, who had managed to hobble behind a large pile of crates. He made for it, running as fast as he could.

Just as the roar of the machine guns filled his audios he slid into the protective shadow of the crates, hearing the pinging as the heavy rounds struck his cover like a hail storm.

"Watch out!" He barely registered the voice in time and ducked to the side as Gipsy came flying past, diving into cover beside him. There were a few new scrapes and scratch marks on her armor, but she seemed to be okay.

"Well, you picked a hell of a time to join us," Cralk grunted, checking his shotgun.

"We have our reasons," Crimson replied. "But what's our situation?"

"Let me check," the Krogan muttered sarcastically, taking a peek around the crates, only to instantly withdraw it as a tidal wave of incoming fire flew through the air, missing his face by an inch.

"We're fucked," he growled, looking back at the Jaegers. "They got us pinned down good alright. Normally I wouldn't care, but that's some heavy fire power their packing."

"So what do we do?" Gipsy asked, Revenent clenched tight in her hands.

"We need to get there," Cralk said, pointing to an open door further down the wall. The opening was blocked by another pile of conveniently stacked crates, behind which at least five defenders were peeking around cover and doing their best to suppress the advancing Krogan. To the side was a small ladder coming down from the catwalk which strained under the weight of people climbing down to their escape route.

"Of course," Cralk continued. "It's almost a twenty meter run, all the while being pincushions to those clanless bastards." He racked his shotgun, ejecting a spent thermal clip. "So unless you got any bright idea's we're gonna get across that without being turned into ribbons, we're fucked."

"Oh," Crimson replied, a grin lighting his eye as he stared at the pile of crates. "I may have a few."

A Rising Maw Centurion hefted his shield, withdrawing his SMG to load up another clip. As he did so, a shadow suddenly darkened the viewing slit of his shield. He leaned forward to see through it and was instantly knocked down as a crate weighing a full ton collided with his shield.

"Nice throw!" Gipsy exclaimed as Crimson withdrew behind cover again.

"Thank you," Crimson nodded, pointing at another crate. "Now grab that one right there… no, _that_ one, and hand it to me. I don't fancy being turned into mincemeat right now. Wait, what are you doing?"

The Centurion staggered to his feet, shaking off the shock of being pancaked between the floor and his own shield. A few shots pinged off his barriers but his comrades seemed to draw most of the attention as the pathetic vermin tried to escape. He reached down to retrieve his shield, and that was the only thing that stopped him from seeing the other crate flying at his head.

"Gipsy, I needed that," Crimson growled as he watched the corpse get crushed under the heavy box.

"Sorry," Gipsy replied sheepishly, picking up her Revenent again. "Couldn't resist."

Crimson glared at her, before noticing another, larger crate in the pile. "Never mind, help me with this."

The rest of the Maws, having seen their comrade's 'death by box' situation, now shifted most of their attention away from the retreating vermin to focus fully on the killer. Not one of their number had been killed in this attack, only a few wounds here and there, but the deaths were a true blow to their pride. Being personally selected for this mission by the General himself set them in high standing among their peers, proving that they were the best. Now that two of them had fallen in battle jeopardized that standing. There were many other units that had completed assignments of similar difficultly (hardly any) and returned with barely a scratch. Now they would avenge both their fallen and their reputation with the blood of the killer. Blood for blood, as they were taught.

They had the three pinned down, and it was only a matter of time before they would try to run and escape with the others. At a silent signal, half of them stopped firing, giving the illusion of reloading, waiting for their prey to emerge.

They emerged quicker than the Maw anticipated, and in a most… unexpected way.

A crate, taller than a fully grown Krogan and twice as long was pushed out into the open, crawling along the floor like a slug. The guns opened up once again.

"I have to admit, this is a pretty good idea," Cralk nodded appreciatively, seemingly uncaring of the thousands of bullets pinging off their mobile cover as he watched the front corner for any Krogan that might come around and charge them.

Crimson grunted, straining to pull the heavy crate across the rough ground. His hands clutched whatever handhold he could find as he slowly but steadily dragged the crate towards the exit.

"We could go a bit faster though," Gipsy added, walking slowly behind him, watching the back side.

"You're welcome to help out, you know," Crimson growled, feeling his leg servos burn from the strain of dragging four tons worth of metal.

"I need to watch the back, remember," she replied cheekily. Grumbling something under his breath, Crimson returned to the task at hand. Pull after pull, step after step. It was a long minute that the crate was dragged across the floor, bullets bouncing off it as the Maws fruitlessly poured fire into it. It was a huge relief to Crimson as the crate collided with the other pile before he staggered behind it, legs burning from the effort. By now most of the other defenders had escaped, save for the couple dozen that lay dead on the catwalks, gunned down by the furious Krogan. In fact, there was hardly anyone left, just a few Turians cowering behind the safety of the pile, giving their moving crate as much cover fire as they could. As soon as they reached it, the Turians started sprinting for the escape route. Crimson staggered after them, Gipsy and Cralk following close behind as they ran through the doorway. When they all made it through, Cralk keyed something into his omni-tool before the door hologram turned red before disappearing altogether.

"It'll take them a while to get through that," Cralk grunted, turning and stumbling down the hallway they had just entered into.

The two Jaegers followed him down the bland metal corridor until it opened up into a wide hanger bay of sorts. The rusted and decrepit backdrop of Omega filled the large hanger door as one of the oddest skycars flew out into open air. It half resembled a flying pickup truck with a closed bed and almost four times as big. The bay looked as if it could hold a dozen of the flying bricks, but at the moment only two remained. Both of which were being loaded up with...

He blinked in surprise, burning limbs forgotten, as he saw the cargo being loaded into the trucks: Children.

Almost two dozen children, an assorted mixture of Asari, Human and even a few Turians were being bundled up into the trucks by panicked looking Asari. The only thing that stopped Crimson from thinking they'd stumbled on some sick slaver op was the fact that the young ones weren't panicking. They calmly allowed themselves to be lifted into the trucks before strong arms from inside pulled them in without a sound.

As he watched, the second truck lifted off the ground with a groan of taxed engines before it flew out the hanger door and disappeared.

"How are we doing!" A voice shouted from behind him. Crimson turned and saw the same armored Asari from before striding towards them. Her armor was visibly scratched up, covered in dust and... were those cobwebs? He wasn't aware that spiders were on Omega. Behind her, on the far wall, he saw that the grating on a vent had been removed and now both Aniya and Miya were crawling out, both looking rather filthy.

For a moment, Crimson felt a touch of resentment for having kept that route hidden from them. Then he actually looked at the vent and saw there wasn't enough room to fit his torso through, let alone the rest of him.

"Okay, I think," Cralk replied as she drew near. "We're the last bus to leave, that's all I know."

The Asari grunted in response, walking past them and towards the truck. "Are they all safe?" she shouted.

Another Asari, this one decked out in pilot gear leaned out the back. "Left with the last one," she shouted back. "We're the last and good to go."

"Good." The armored Asari turned back to them. "Load up, we're getting out of here!"

They all approached and started to get in the vehicle, Aniya taking special care to make sure that Miya was loaded up first. Cralk had just set a foot on the running board when an explosion echoed down the way they came.

"Must have finally grown some brains," Cralk noted as the loud tramping of boots came from the hallway. He crawled in along side the armored Asari before seating himself on a bench that ran along the inside of the truck. Then, surprisingly, he held out a hand to Crimson, as if to help him in. Crimson couldn't help but chuckle at that. With his weight he was more likely to pull the Krogan out then the other way around. He instead stood aside and allowed Gipsy to test the Krogan's strength.

As she stepped onto the running board, he heard something. A small rustling sound, little more then the swish of cloth, but was enough to make his head turn to investigate.

A lone Human woman crawled out of the vent, the same one that their allies had used. As she emerged, Crimson could see her face break out in joyous hope at seeing the truck still here. As soon as her feet left the vent, two more figures crawled out after her. Two little Asari girls, probably no older then six.

The woman bundled the two children into her arms and started running for the truck, just as the pounding boots from the hallway reached a crescendo and the first Rising Maw soldier stormed in. At first it looked to be completely focused on the truck, but then Crimson saw the helmeted head turn to target the running trio. Faster then the blink of an eye the Krogan had snapped up it's rifle before loosing a long burst.

As if in slow motion, Crimson watched the woman turn mid-step, shielding the small forms in her arms as the shoots made contact, shattering her barriers and passing through her body and erupting out the other side with a spray of blood. As the woman tumbled over, he could her the children scream in terror as they hit the ground, the corpse landing on top of them as the Krogan continued it's devastating barrage.

At that moment, something seemed to snap inside him. The gunshots, the pounding of boots, the urgent voices of his allies urging him to get in faded and all he could hear was the two girls screaming in fear. Before he could process what was happening he was moving, running full tilt towards terrified pair, cowering under the body of their guardian.

A pressure began to build in his left arm, energy following through his body directed towards the powerhouse that was his cannon.

Just before he reached them, he jumped, putting all the power he could into his legs. He could feel the rockets on his back flare, pushing him even higher, up and over the Krogan's incoming fire.

As he started to come down, time seemed to slow and it was like he hung there in the air. He could see everything in perfect clarity. The Krogan, surprised by his sudden entrance, trying to adjust his aim to the flying mech that appeared in front of it. Crimson glared at him, eye locking onto him with single minded intensity, bring his cannon in line with it's head.

The pressure in his arm reached a peak before a large blazing ball of plasma erupted from his limb, travelling the distance faster then the Krogan could react. Ignoring its barriers, the shot stuck it in the snout and the Krogan's head seemed to detonate in a blazing ball of blue fire.

The headless body fell to the ground, just as Crimson landed with a mighty clang, directly in front of the frightened girls. They stared up at him, shock and awe written across their faces as they beheld the massive metal giant that had saved them.

Before they begin to scream again, he scooped them up, just as more soldiers stormed into the hanger. Their eyes darted to their dead comrade then up to Crimson, hatred burning beneath their helmets. They raised their machine guns as one, preparing to fire before a horn echoed through the hanger, reminiscent of the old fog horns of the oceans. They turned to face the sound, just in time to see Gipsy charging towards them, swords extended and stabbed a soldier through the gut. Before it could cry out, Gipsy jerked her arm up, dragging her blade through it's thick chest and out the top of it's head, nearly cleaving the Krogan in two.

The rest were given no time to react as Gipsy lept into the fray, steel obsidian blades flashing as they cut through flesh, bone and metal without reservation. Such was her ferocity that the Krogan couldn't bring their weapons to bear, packed to close together and to close to the steel mistress of death.

As Gipsy managed to push them back to the entrance of the hallway, Crimson started running, the girls still clutched in his arms as he headed for the truck, which had lifted off the ground, it's open back end facing towards them. The others were all leaning out the back, weapons firing at any Krogan that managed to get past Gipsy.

They immediately pressed themselves against the walls as Crimson took a running jump into the vehicle, which groaned as he landed in a crouch.

As if sensing he was safe, Gipsy disengaged, swords sliding back into her forearms as she turned tail and ran. The Krogan tried to follow, but the incoming fire from the truck kept them pinned in the hallway, giving Gipsy enough time to climb in. The moment she did, a hatch slammed shut, casting the inside of the truck into darkness. A second later the vehicle put on a burst of speed, flying out of the hanger bay and into Omega's hellish skyscape.

In the darkened bay, only the sound of heavy breathing and the creaking of armor could be heard. Then came a small clinking sound and a wet squish before Gipsy's voice rang in the darkness. "I think I have brains stuck in my fingers."

"Well that ruined the moment," Cralk's voice grunted.

Lights set into the ceiling snapped on, revealing the interior. As he looked at Gipsy, Crimson couldn't but think that brains would be the least of her worries.

Her whole front was splattered with blood. Small flecks of it clung to her visor while small puddles formed beneath her drenched forearms, staining the deck with red.

That would take a while to clean up. Letting out a sigh of both exasperation and relief, Crimson looked down to the girls still wrapped in his arms. Now that he could see them better, he could see the dirty faces and the thin, starved appearance each one carried, His core clenched at the sight, wondering how any sentient being could willingly enslave someone like this.

As if feeling his gaze upon them, the two girls slowly lifted their heads from where they were buried in his metallic shoulders to meet his glowing eye. He stared back, the warmth once again blossoming in his chest. They weren't scared, more fascinated in the Jaeger that saved their lives. But he could still see a twinge of fear, or rather a shyness that came with meeting a person that was taller then a Krogan.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. They nodded, eyes wide as they learned that the big red walking tank could speak.

"Good," he nodded, sitting on one of the side benches and loosening his arms, allowing them to slide into his lap. "What are your names?"

The two looked at each other before the one on his left raised her hand. "M-my name is Tila," she whispered.

"Tila. That's a nice name," Crimson replied, a grin slowly blooming on his visor. Tila blushed and ducked her head, embarrassed.

"And yours," he prompted, looking to the one on his right.

The young Asari gazed up at him, meeting his unblinking yellow gaze with wide eyed fascination. "Lila," she replied without hesitation. "Mister, why do you only have one eye?"

He blinked in surprise, but then realized he was going to get that question out of them soon or later.

"Well, that's just the way I was made," he said, just as she opened her mouth again.

"Do you have a name, mister?"

Crimson hesitated briefly, then decided it didn't matter if she knew or not.

"My name is Crimson Typhoon," he said, then paused as the tiny Asari wrapped her small arms around his waist and gave him the biggest hug she could.

"Thank you for saving us, mister Tyfume," she murmured out from where her face was pressed against his plating. After a moment of hesitation, Tila joined in, wrapping her arms as far as they could around his middle.

"Awwww," Gipsy cooed across from him, drawing his gaze upward.

The Jaeger was seated on the bench opposite, visor glowing in a broad smile as she beheld the snuggling trio. Beside her sat Aniya and her new found daughter, who was leaning against her mother's side, relishing in the contact. Both of them were drinking in the sight of the metal warrior being used as a plush toy. To Gipsy's other side were Cralk and the unknown Asari, the former cleaning off his shotgun with a rag, ignoring the scene while the latter looked on with a curious expression on her face.

Then she sighed before saying, "you aren't what I expected."

"Excuse me?" Crimson asked, forcing his eye away from the girls around his waist.

"I once met a Geth," she continued, meeting his gaze, "before the rebellion, of course. They were... blunt, inquisitive... child like. They were considered to be the pinnacle of artificial intelligence, but they were always so cold. They couldn't understand feelings, and how us organics do things, our drives, our motives. They ran on numbers and orders, nothing else. I remember one time I was with a friend of mine, a Quarian engineer working on the Geth, and I got to ask it a question. I asked it, what it would do if there were three people in danger, itself, a soldier and a child, and it could only save one, what would it do? It said that, without prior orders, it would calculate which one had the highest odds of survival before doing everything it could to insure that that being survived. Seventy percent of the time that being was itself. I wanted to call it selfish, but it wouldn't have understood. After that, I thought all synthetics thought the same, ran on numbers... then you came along."

Her eyes softened and she smiled softly. "The Geth I met would've just turned it's back on them and left, if not ordered to rescue them. You... your different."

"How so," Crimson asked, looking back down to the bundles in his arms.

"You think like us," she replied. "You don't think like a machine, but like a real, living being."

"That's... just the way we were made," Crimson shrugged, mind racing to come up with a reasonable explanation without revealing too much about themselves. "It was a... long process and... and the deaths of people closest to us."

Her eyes softened. "I can relate to that. My daughter was stolen more then fifty years ago by slavers and sold to a buyer that had... unique tastes. By the time I tracked them down it was... to late."

A single tear trailed down her face before she wiped it away.

"After that, I made myself a promise: That I would do my best to save others from that fate. I've been holding myself to that for the past fifty years."

She gave a small smile, her eyes shifting to the two girls still wrapped around his waist. "It has it's own rewards besides money. They're twins, stolen about four months ago, snatched right from the Presidium. We managed to intercept their transport and rescue them before the sick bastard could get his hands on them. We were just preparing to send them home when you showed up."

"Is that what that call to Archangel was about?" Crimson asked.

"Yeah," she nodded. "We pissed off enough slavers on Omega that they posted a large bounty on us. It's been hell getting people out. But now this..." She trailed off before her voice turned professional. "Why the hell were those Krogan even there?"

"Tactical advantage," Cralk grunted as he cleaned away a spot of rust on his weapon. "Best damn fortified place on Omega, after Afterlife, of course. It'll be bitch to take it back, and we're the ones who made the damn place."

"But why?" the Asari pressed. "So far as I know we didn't do a thing to piss them off."

"Again, tactical advantage," he repeated folding up his shotgun and attaching it to his back. "Think about it. The base was right on one of the main skycar highways of Omega leading straight to Afterlife. In theory, our place was one of the best places to mount an attack. A refueling station, repair shop and mustering area all in one. Come to think about it maybe that's why Aria sold it to you in the first place, knowing that you wouldn't try anything on her."

"That's insane," The Asari said. "Your talking about attacking Aria, the queen of Omega for the past hundred years or so who has survived dozens of attacks and assassinations. How the hell do you think they have a chance."

"They took us down, didn't they?" the Krogan shrugged. "Ex-Huntresses, Turian Black Ops and Alliance Marines and they walked right over us. Three dozen dead on our side while they only lost ten, all thanks to them." He jerked his head at Gipsy. "But we were some of the best, and they wiped us out. How long do you think Aria's little gang of pirates and murderers will last?"

Before the Asari could answer, a frantic beeping emerged from Crimson's omni-tool. The girls unwrapped themselves from his waist as he brought his device up to eye and glanced at the display. It was a call from Kriln.

He tapped the accept button then spoke. "Yes?"

"_Where are you?!_" a frantic Turian shouted back over the line, the sound of gun fire and explosions echoing in the background.

"Uh..." he paused, glancing about the inside of the truck before Kriln cut him off.

"_Never mind. Get your metal asses to Afterlife, NOW!_"

"Why, what's happening?" Crimson asked.

"_The fucking Krogan rebellions, that's what!_" came the reply. "_Get yourselves over here now! We're holed up in Afterlife, but we can't hold out much longer!_"

"We'll be there," Crimson assured him before terminated the link.

"Well that was fast," Cralk noted as Crimson turned on the unnamed Asari.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To a hanger," she answered. "We arranged a pick up deal with a ship from Thessia a few days ago to get these little ones home," she gestured at the girls.

"Okay," nodded, glancing at Gipsy to see her picking up her Revenent from under the bench. "Could you drop us some where near an skycar station?"

"Consider it done."

* * *

**Chapter 13 is up, one of my longest ones yet. I'm quite proud of it, even though it took me two months to write the damn thing with all the rewrites and all. But I hope you all enjoyed it.**

**And to BringontheJaeger and anyone else who is wondering, this is the abridged version of the Rising Maw I had planed. After this there are only three more chapters with the Rising Maw, all of which I plan to post this week. I do have a little spat with Cerberus planed before meeting Shepard, just to get some very important plot points out, but that shouldn't take too long.  
**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed and I will see you next time.**

**DJ out!**


	14. The Rising Maw Part 8

"What do you mean you didn't see them leave?!" Striker screamed, gesturing wildly to the spot Cherno used to occupy in front of the door. "You were right fucking there! They had to step right over you, how could you possibly miss that?!"

Cherno rumbled in annoyance as the Australian continued his rant. Sure he had slept through their comrades leaving, but was he upset about it? No. He couldn't deny, however, that he was a little concerned about them. Memories from his parents dictated that leaving in the middle of the night without notice meant two things in succession: One: late night man hour followed by forceful ejection from bed, usually a few hours after man hour. He didn't know what the two had in common, but the actions of the first seemed to effect the outcome of the ejection.

Besides, Gipsy and Crimson were Jaegers, they could take care of themselves. With that, he turned away and plopped down on the couch, picked up his Katana shotgun from the cushion beside him and began to explore the contours of the powerful weapon. As he continued to do so however, a feeling of discontentment settled in.

It was a good shotgun, but it just wasn't _the_ shotgun. The grip and trigger guard didn't fit his hands the way it should, and it felt more like an accessory rather then an extension of his being. He rumbled as his finger traced the end of the barrel. It was too small for his tastes. He'd never had a shotgun before, or any kind of ranged weaponry built into his frame, other then his incinerator turbines. But honestly, they just didn't have the range or destructive firepower. Sure they burned like hell, pun intended, but there was a certain flare that Cherno had come to appreciate with a shotgun. Mainly that it painted the wall behind the target red with it's own blood... or blue, in some cases.

And sure, the Katana was good, but it was just too... small.

Cherno keened in satisfaction as as he thought about it, the word he had been searching for this whole time. It was just too small. He needed a bigger one. One that was twice as powerful.

A flash of silver flashed in his vision and he looked up to see Striker pacing back and forth in front of his seat. He had fallen silent, but the glowing intensity of his visor gave away that he was far from finished.

Air hissed from his vents as Cherno sighed, before moaning his rough dialect.

"FINE?!" Striker screeched, whirling on him. "They wandered off without us!"

Cherno rumbled again, waving his hand dismissively.

"Oh yeah, sure," Striker replied sarcastically. "Next thing you know they'll be calling us about... oh I don't know, THEM BEING ATTACKED OR SOMETHING!"

There was a pause before Cherno let out a deadpan warble.

"I DO NOT WORRY TOO MUCH!"

Before Striker could lose his speakers from over use his omni-tool lit up and chimed with an incoming call. He took one look at the display before accepting and screaming into the device; "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"

"_Hello to you too Striker,_" Crimson's annoyed voice sounded. "_I tried to contact you through our radios but I couldn't reach you. Maybe we're out of range or something, I don't know..._"

"That's nice," Striker interrupted. "Now where the fuck did you go without us?!"

"_We got a call from someone who needed our help... __then we got _another_ call to-_"

"We're not turning into the fucking Justice League or something are we?"

"_Will you just listen for a second? Afterlife is under attack by the Rising Maws._"

Cherno let out a moan of surprise as he stood, staring down at the omni-tool display.

"Oh," Striker murmured. "That's..."

"_Bad?_" Crimson interrupted. "_Yes, thank you for finally understanding that._" His voice cut out for a few seconds, replaced by some unintelligible mumbling before it came back.

"_Listen, we're in a skycar heading there, but we just got a warning from the system saying the terminal there isn't operational. Maws probably took it out. How fast can you be at Afterlife?_"

"Uh..."

Cherno reached over, grabbing the Australian's wrist and brought it close before rumbling into the device.

"_Thank you, Cherno. Please hurry._"

The line cut out, leaving the two standing in silence.

"Now what the fuck did you get us into?" Striker growled, yanking his hand out of the Russian's grip.

Giving a growl of his own, practically ringing in finality, Cherno bent and picked up his shotgun from the couch.

Striker sighed explosively. "Fine."

Hearing that, Cherno let out a warble that twinkled with amusement.

"I'M NOT FUCKING WORRIED, ALRIGHT?!"

Ten minutes later the two of them were seated in a skycar, heading with all speed towards Afterlife. Or, at least, Cherno hoped it was the right direction. He had offlined his vision not long after they took off.

"Fucking thing!" Striker growled as he jerked the controls to side. Cherno once again clutched the sides of his seat as the skycar took another terrifying role to the side. He moaned, trying to put as much sternness in as he could without sounding petrified.

"I'm doing my fucking best here," Striker grumbled as the vehicle wobbled. "It's not my fault the controls are fucked up."

Cherno moaned again, wishing the terrifying experience away.

After Crimson had called they had set off immediately to the nearest skycar station. The terminal, however, said that the whole system had been shut down under Aria's orders. That didn't stop them from commandeering the car currently parked there at the time. Problem was, with the system down, the skycar didn't know where to go. It could fly, of course, but you had to do it manually.

That was when Striker had a sudden, 'brilliant' idea. Herc had been a jet pilot before becoming Striker's pilot. Maybe he could muster the Herc inside and try and fly that rust bucket. Cherno had reluctantly agreed, but after Striker started off by going full reverse into a wall he started to get doubts about the Australian's flying ability. It was after the fifth barrel role caused when Striker tried to find the brakes that he was begging to be let out. By then it was too late.

They were screaming along at full speed, the skycar wobbling to and fro as Striker gripped the holographic control column with one hand while the other wandered around the controls trying the find the accelerator. He had pressed it before by accident and know couldn't remember where it was.

"You know what? Fuck it," Striker growled, reaching out and tapping a random button. Instantly the engine cut out, and quite quickly the skycar dropped into a dive.

"Perfect," Striker grumbled statistically, once again scanning the controls as Cherno keened in terror beside him. Below and looming in the windshield the blackness of space loomed the car plunged into the depths.

"Wait, here we go!"

Another button and engine kicked back in, turning their dive into a ninety degree climb. Cherno hit the back of his seat and heard something snap inside it. It might have been something important, but what was more important then hanging on for dear life?

"Now this I can handle."

The control column went forward and craft straightened out so fast Cherno's head flew forward and headbutted the windshield, putting a large crack in the glass.

"Okay," Striker said to himself, oblivious to the Russian's terror. "I think I got this."

He tapped a few buttons and the vehicle responded, slowing down a tad before returning to full speed. He experimented some more, each time getting a minor response.

"Yeah, I got this."

Cherno growled, rubbing his head where it hit the glass.

"Ah shut up."

The flight continued on in silence. Striker may had learned how to fly the damn thing, but Cherno didn't want to take any chances and hung on for dear life. It wasn't long before the glowing exterior of Afterlife could be seen in the distance. It wasn't hard to find, their apartment complex was reasonably close and they had taken the route a few times before.

As they drew closer, activity on the boulevard outside the club drew their attention. Slight flashes of gunfire, black pillars of smoke and occasional explosion could be seen all down it's length. Near the entrance of the club, barricades had been set up and sported a colourful assortment of armored figures all firing at the army of grey that occupied the boulevard.

Cherno risked letting go of his seat and pointed, rumbling.

"Yeeeaaaaah," Striker said sheepishly. "What if I told you I hadn't figured out landing yet?"

-Linebreak-

"That is a lot of Krogan."

"Tell me about it," Crimson groaned as he eyed the Rising Maw forces assembled. No less then three dozen regular troops and another two dozen of the shield bearing Centurians. They were advancing towards the main entrance of Afterlife under highly organized layers of suppressing fire giving the defenders no room to manoeuvre... If they could even be called defenders. A large assortment of aliens crouched behind hastily assembled barricades just outside the club's door. They were highly unorganized, their leadership most likely one of the corpses that lay about in great numbers.

It was a grim situation, and as Crimson watched another Asari get gunned down, he realized this fight wouldn't last long.

Silently, he withdrew his head from the corner and turned to face Gipsy. They were holed up in alley just off the main boulevard, courtesy of the skycar dropping them off a few blocks away. So far they remained undetected, but he didn't want to take the chance at flanking. He'd seen other groups of merc attempt it, but the Maws always seemed to anticipate it and dealt with them ruthlessly. While Jaegers were, of course, stronger and better armored he didn't fancy charging into the sights of no less then two dozen Revenent machine guns.

"So," he asked, "any good ideas?"

"Uh," Gipsy sighed, looking down at her own Revenent. "None that wouldn't get us killed, no."

Crimson sighed as he again peeked around the corner. "Well, we got to do something. They won't last much longer under this-"

He was interrupted as a loud screech of metal on metal echoed through the air. The two fighting armies paused, trying to figure out what it was, just as a flaming skycar slid along the boulevard, flattening Krogan as it went before it finally slid to a stop right in front of the clubs entrance. The defenders stared in shock at what had just happened, and it cost them dearly. The Maws took advantage of the distraction, gunning down any who were caught out of cover with deadly precision.

As the blood bath continued, the vehicle door was kicked out, sending it skidding across the ground. Both sides paused again as they watched the silver form of Striker Eureka step out, a constant stream of curses flowing from his speakers.

"...no damn bloody brakes, when I get my hands on em' there won't be enough..."

He looked up, finally realizing he was in the middle of battle. He swore again before turning to the nearest opponent, a Maw Centurion. He swung an arm, batting the shield away before gabbing a sting-blade into it's helmet. As the body sagged, he grabbed it by the collar, holding it upright as a wave of incoming fire peppered the corpse.

Then he yelled, a mixture of curses and blood lust as he charged a tight group of Krogan, his makeshift bullet shield held aloft. The Krogan held their ground, continuing to fire and bracing for the worst, but it wasn't enough as Striker crashed into them.

While he was only a ton and half, a lightweight compared to Cherno, he might as well have been a speeding truck. The Krogan were sent staggering back as he discarded the bullet filled corpse and slashed with his blades. Two were cut down instantly, their helmets unable to stop the super heated blade as it cut through them like soft cheese.

As the blood bath continued, Cherno emerged from the wreck, rumbling like a volcano. He shook his head before charging at the nearest Krogan as it lined up a shot on Striker with it's strange sniper rifle. The brute never even saw the massive fist that caved in it's helmet and sent the body flying into the Krogan beside it.

Emboldened by the Jaeger's appearance, the defenders eagerly rose up, letting loose with their own weapons upon the distracted Krogan. Crimson even saw a Biotic singularity fly out, trapping three of the Maws before they were gunned down.

"Well, that sort of solves our problem," Gipsy said, peeking around the corner.

"Not quite," Crimson replied. "Reinforcement must be coming to help, and if they show up in a place where we don't expect it then Striker and Cherno may be in big trouble."

"Right," Gipsy nodded, just as a grenade was thrown, by whom Crimson didn't know, but it landed less then two meters away from Cherno. There was a loud squawk from the giant before it detonated, the explosion washing over him like water before engulfing him completely.

Crimson watched, breathless as the flames expanded, fear gripping his core. Then a low, dangerous rumbled sounded and dark green blur charged out of the smoke, catching a Krogan off guard and giving it a savage uppercut that sent it flying. A sigh of relief worked it's way out of his vents as Crimson surveyed the battle, searching for anything that could be used to their advantage. Then, as a dying Maw fired into the ceiling, he saw it.

"Come with he," he said, grabbing Gipsy by the arm and dragging her away.

"Where are we going?" she asked. "The fight is that way!"

Crimson chuckled as he thought about it. "You might say we're taking it to higher level."

It took Crimson a mere second to find what he was looking for, and soon he and Gipsy were in position, crouching on suspended catwalk high above the on going battle.

"This is gonna be awesome," Gipsy whispered excitedly, shifting in anticipation.

"Yeah, okay," Crimson nodded, not feeling so confident in his plan now as the catwalk groaned under their weight. "Just... try to keep from moving until it's time."

"And when exactly _will_ it be time?"

"Oh, I don't know." The catwalk gave another ominous groan. "Never?"

The battle below was quickly shifting in Afterlife's favor. With the appearance of the two Jaegers, the defenders had quickly moved up, doing their best to work in union to catch any Maws they could in a crossfire. But more then anything, they were only distractions until one of the two machines could come and dispatch the hostiles.

The number of attacking Maws had shrunk drastically. By now there were only two small groups, each suffering from the effects of having a Jaeger in close proximity. At this point Crimson started wondering why he'd even thought to come up here, just as the event he had feared happened. A new group of Maws stormed into the battle from a side alley, Centurions in the lead, blocking incoming fire as the troops behind them readied their weapons. A grave tactical error on their part, however, was that they had stopped and taken their stand directly underneath the catwalk.

Crimson slowly looked up to meet Gipsy's gaze, and could see the same idea mirrored in her mind.

"Jump on three?" he asked. She nodded.

"One," he said, rising to a standing position as Gipsy did the same, Revenent clutched eagerly. "...two... three!"

They both jumped. The catwalk, barely able to take their weight to begin with, finally broke, the cables holding it to the ceiling snapping in half sending the metal walkway and it's occupants down into battle.

A single Centurion below, hearing a strange sound, briefly glanced up, just in time to see the tumbling walkway before it crushed him and most of his fellow Centurions beneath it. The remaining Krogan behind them, had the unique novelty of seeing Gipsy Danger standing atop the pile of twisted metal and crushed bodies, Revenent raised and a savage grin glowing on her visor before the heavy machine gun began unloading it's deadly payload. The powerful weapon shattered their barriers like glass before the incendiary infused shots tore into their flesh. Beneath the sound of rapid fire, the wicked whirring of buzz-saws announced Crimson's entrance into the fray, leaping over the railing of the fallen catwalk and slashing at the nearest opponent.

The Maw reinforcements descended into chaos, their leaders not knowing where to turn as Striker and Cherno charged around the catwalk, catching them from the side. Their numbers were dwindling fast, and they were helpless against these machines in close quarters, a concept formally unheard of to the Krogan. But it made them all the more certain in their decision to order a full retreat and regroup elsewhere.

The Maws disengaged as fast as possible, losing a few more troops in the process as they ran back to the cover of the alley and deeper into the station.

"Yeah, that's right ya' bloody wankers!" Striker shouted after them. "Next time bring a _real_ fucking army if you want ta-"

He was interrupted as a hand swung and slapped him neatly upside the back of his head.

"Gah!" he yelled, whirling on Crimson. "What was that for?!"

"Don't encourage them," Crimson hissed back, watching as the Maws turned a corner and out of sight. He had the sinking feeling that they would take Striker's advice to heart, and not even the cheers from the defenders could ease the tightening in his core.

-Linebreak-

He was late.

Xran stalked through the tightly packed building of the Chop Shop, heading for his own private office. He was suppose to be there an hour ago, instead he was settling a dispute between the groups that made up the Maws. Titanus' grunts and Krual's infiltrators. He may have had higher ranking within the organization, but they were still Krogan, tankbred or not, and they respected strength above all.

He growled, wiping away a tiny trickle of blood from his upper lip. He had to beat some sense into them. Top of the gene pool his ass.

He turned a corner, stalking past a group of infiltrators lining up slaves against a prefab wall. When he had made it past he heard the gunshots. He shook his head. What a waste. Killing the weak and injured to sate blood lust. But then again, not many of the others were a Template like him.

It was actually only pure chance that he had been selected, back when he and his batch were little more then a collection of cells in the tanks. They all grew like weeds, but out of the hundreds of others, he'd been selected. From the moment he could think, Okeer and his helpers began the program, genetic programing designed to make his mind more malleable, able to soak up knowledge and truly understand it. When he could hear clearly, he had been fed an equivalent of university degree, ranging in mathematics, language and other studies. But it all paled in comparison to the tactical knowledge and insight that had been shoved into his skull. He had been designed to be a tactical genius, a commander without parallel. But that didn't effect his physical stature, and the less then intelligent brutes he called his comrades didn't respect the rank. Even after Titanus had announced his promotion he had been forced to cement his standing among the ranks with brute force.

It wasn't that he was soft, expecting promotion without merit. Far from it, he would fight for his position to the last breath. But the fact that his brethren only respected his strength rather then the rank he'd earned was disturbing to him. He'd been told by the General that they were the new breed: Krogan that were stronger, faster, and above all else, smarter.

Bullshit.

They were faster and stronger, but _smarter_? Out of all of Generation 4, he and the other Templates seemed to be the only ones who received that supposed boost of intelligence, and even the others seemed to be losing it. Relegated to being mere sargents and taskmasters, their superiority seemed to be growing on them, turning them prideful and eager to advance in the Rising Maws. Which, of course, meant clawing your way up the totem pool atop the bodies of your opponents.

Templates were meant to be the seeds of the next generation, learning and growing in strength for their genes to be pasted down to the next batch of tankbreds.

For some reason the prospect sickened him. It was not the natural order of things. What's more, he'd had a bit of biology shoved into his head as a side note. Clones of clones would eventually break down, their genetics unable to handle... whatever it was. Point was, they would break down and become worse then the, supposed, natural _inferior_ Krogan. That was what Titanus and his sargents had drilled into them since day one. From the time they were aware in the tanks to when they were fighting combat simulations, their superiority had been imposed upon them. Naturally they all accepted it, but it seemed only he could look beyond and see what exactly made them superior. Now that he could, he didn't feel superior at all.

The other Krogan, the _true_ Krogan on Tuchanka, were free. While all they knew how to wage war, Xran knew they had the potential for more. A strong leader could guide them into a better future. These Krogan, the Rising Maws? War was all they knew, all they had been trained to know. Their heads had been filled with the visions of a new Krogan empire that spanned the galaxy, and they, the superiors of their race would lead them.

They were deluded. All of them. Especially about their _superiority_. They were not the true Krogan. No, they were merely test subjects, dumped from the tubes as rejects and taught lies, led by a deluded relic of the Krogan Rebellions.

He had held out hope for his tankbred brethren, waiting to see if others would come to the same thinking he had. That hope had died when, on the eve of their assault to begin to take Omega, Titanus had addressed them all, telling them that none would be spared. Not one man, woman or child. Human, Asari, Batarian, _Krogan_, it made no difference. They were all inferior, and deserved death.

That had made him snap. He wanted no part in this deluded army.

He grinned as a thought occurred to him. Titanus had designed him to be the best strategist and thinker to lead the armies of the Maws. Well, he'd been thinking alright, and asked the question; why am I fighting? He didn't like the answer he got, to say the least. Titanus had inadvertently turned his best man against him by trying to make him the best.

He reached his own private prefab, one of the only things he enjoyed about his position, and entered, locking the door behind him. His quarters were rather simple. A cot, weapons and armor locker, chair and a desk with a portable terminal. The building, with it's closed windows was well sound proofed, but he didn't want anyone barging in and catching him off guard.

He probably shouldn't have worried, though. By now, most of the Maw army was away, off on missions capturing key points on Omega, half of he had specified as targets, leaving the bare minimum to guard their base and watch the slaves responsible for creating the weapons and armor that drove the Maw war machine. He had designed operation 'Omega of Omega,' too accomplish two things: Give the Maws the feeling of victory they wanted, while at the same time, giving him room to manoeuvre.

Sighing, he sank into the chair, pausing for a moment as he heard the springs shriek in protest before fully relaxing. He keyed in his password for the terminal before opening a secure channel to Korlus. He waited for a minute as the call was processed before the screen lit up, revealing the heavily scarred face of another Krogan. On his red headplate were the faded letters; G1-T. One of the first Templates to be drafted from Generation 1.

He had only discovered it a few months ago, but he was none the less glad that he was not alone in his way of thinking.

"_You__'__r__e__ late,_" the Krogan grunted, his voice coming over the channel as a rough baritone.

"I know," Xran replied. "I had to deal with the superiority complex and all that."

"_Hmm. So they're fading even further?_"

"Yes."

The Krogan sighed. "_I told Okeer this would happen. He's been neglecting the proper gene selection for the last few batches._" He glared at him through the screen. "_Of course, after you very politely asked me to start feeding Titanus bullshit it's been torture to watch this happen._"

"I thought it didn't trouble you to begin with."

"_You haven't spent weeks on end searching for the perfect mix,_" the Krogan growled. "_To watch __my__ hard work fall apart like this jus__t-_"

"Focus," Xran interrupted. "This is all part of the plan, remember?"

"_Yeah. Thanks. Sometimes I get a little carried away._"

"I've noticed."

"_So how are things going on your end?_"

Air whooshed out his nostrils as Xran sighed. "Not good. I had give Titanus my plans on the fastest way to capture Omega. The operation is already underway."

"_Shit,_" the Krogan swore. "_How far along are you?_"

"They just completed phase two," Xran replied, checking reports on his omni-tool. "All access ways to the lower levels are captured and under Maw control. Kill-teams are working their way through the areas, clearing away any hostile activity. Titanus ordered we make a small detour and seized some warehouse a few sections below Afterlife as a secondary base of operations."

"_Shit,_" the Krogan swore again. "_You know what happens if they take it, right?_"

"I do," Xran nodded.

"_Then you need to keep them off that place, dammit!_"

"I know that," he growled. "I wrote our plan myself. I'm counting on Aria's forces-"

"_Those mongrels?! You'll be lucky if you can stall an hour with them._"

"-Aria's forces," he continued, ignoring the outburst, "to hold the club until the Collectors can make the transaction with the Vorcha.."

"_Hah! Good luck with that._"

"I thought you said you would stand by me?"

"_I did... hell, we all are. __You think we like this any more then you do?_"

"Good. Then work with me, will you? How is your end of the plan."

"_Running smoothly,_" the scarred face grinned. "_You got at least another six thousand fresh troops on the way. They should arrive in less then a week._"

"Noted. Now any good news?"

"_Well, they didn't question the extra amino boosters we gave them to ward off _armor chafing_ of all things. Their immune systems should take a hit, increasing the chance of infection from... whatever the hell the Collectors cooked up. How the hell did you find out about it anyway?_"

"We were trying to get the location for a Blood Pack base hidden in the juckyards out off a Vorcha. He started spewing out how we were all going to die when the Collectors give them a disease to, and here I quote; 'makes us choke on our own blood.'"

"_And I take it that was the abridged version?_"

Xran sighed. "Like you won't believe. Naturally, believing themselves to be invincible or the Vorcha just stupid, the others ignored it. I, however, went looking."

"_I wonder why?_" the Krogan muttered dryly.

"The clues were all there," Xran continued, ignoring him. "Human colonies are disappearing and every time it happens the Collector's ship is seen exiting the Omega 4 relay. But the colonies aren't destroyed or attacked according to the news networks..."

"_Holy shit, you actually watch those?_"

"...Just empty. Every man, woman and child gone. These are not attacks, these are abductions. And here is Omega, a place filled with millions of hopeful human immigrants right on their doorstep. I'm honestly surprised they haven't come for it sooner."

"_So,_" the Krogan said, leaning away from the screen. "_The Maws aren't the only ones with their eyes on Omega._"

"Indeed," Xran nodded. "But the main complication is how they do it. You can't just herd a bunch of humans onto a ship and fly off. Some would resist, and that would leave bodies. So they would need a way to subdue them all to collect them without hassle. A bio-weapon would suit that need perfectly. Silent, invisible and able to incapacitate whole colonies at a time. It backs up what the Vorcha said about us choking on our own blood: A disease that will kill us all, but that they are immune to."

"_And humans apparently. Who would want to kill the beings they want to abduct?_"

"Exactly. But we don't know that for sure. All we know is that the Vorcha are immune and we aren't."

Xran paused, a scowl on his face. "You haven't been there for Titanus' little plotting sessions, have you?" he asked. "He says he has plans upon plans for building the new empire, all of which hinge on capturing Omega. The moment he has it, Okeer's labs will be moved here so you can begin clone production in earnest. The next step would be Tuchanka, the birthplace of the 'original' Krogan empire. He's obsessed about it. I've tried to sway his mind on it but he won't budge."

"_And with the fall of Tuchanka comes the death of the Krogan people._"

"Indeed. Before he left for the front lines this morning I had to suffer through another speech about Krogan purity. He would wipe out his own people on some misguided principle of survival of the fittest."

"_I see,_" the Krogan nodded. "_So what does that have to do with all this?_"

"It means we have to end this now," Xran growled. "I won't stand by and watch as our true people are wiped out by test tube rejects."

"_I hear ya,_" the Krogan replied. "_But I take it that the original plan still applies?_"

Xran nodded. "But with one small alteration."

"_Oh?_"

"We need to kill Titanus before the Vorcha can unleash the weapon. The troops simply won't care, but the General will get in touch with Okeer or force some other doctor to come up with a cure."

"_What about Krual?_"

"Him too. He can command if he has to, it'll just mean more bodies. They're both a threat and, if we can, should eliminate them in one swift stroke. Without them leadership would have fallen to me."

"_But it won't, huh?_"

"No, I'll be long by then. With me out of the way, most of the more ambitious troops will push for leadership and, hopefully, it'll turn into a brawl."

"_Internal conflict,_" the Krogan grinned, "_coupled with outside pressure and a big old 'fuck you' from the Collectors, they'll be ruined within a week._"

"Yes," Xran nodded back. "But if we can't find a way to kill Titanus and Krual then none of it matters. They'll find a way to beat this."

"_Hmm. Well, if the worst happens the few of us here could just kill Okeer, cut off one source of salvation._"

Xran raised an eyeridge. "You really don't like him, do you?"

"_That's an understatement,_" the Krogan growled. "_Hell, no one here can stand him. He's completely focused on that damn project of his. A perfect Krogan my ass._"

"I see," Xran replied. "Keep your gun loaded then, you might have to do it."

"_Looking forward to it. So hows our time table for this whole thing?_"

"Tight," Xran grunted, checking his omni-tool again. "From the info I've gathered the Collectors will make the transaction in the next few days. Afterlife needs to hold and the big two disposed of in that time frame."

"_Damn, talk about a tight fit,_" the Krogan grunted before a grin came to his scared face. "_But that's what she said. __Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then. In the mean time, I got things to do. Good luck!_"

"Bastard," Xran growled as the video feed cut out. Just as usual, no help what so ever.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Too much to do, not enough time to do it.

Afterlife needed to hold, and Aria remain in control long enough until the Vorcha could unleash whatever weapon the Collectors had cooked up. It was a gamble on where the blasted creatures would let it loose, but he was leaning towards them letting the Maws get the full blast of it. An eye for an eye, and other shit like that. If Aria remained in power long enough she would hopefully recognize the threat of it and quarantine the place, minimizing the collateral damage as much as possible. And to save her own skin.

But if the Maws took Afterlife, it would be all over. It wasn't just a club, but a giant control center for the entire station. If it fell, the Maws would have control over every section in the damn place. And if the Vorcha didn't move fast enough, they might just find themselves getting choked to death when the Maws remotely shut off the life support.

The plan was risky, and it all hinged on holding Afterlife.

An alert from his omni-tool caught his attention. He brought up his arm and stared at the glowing device as reports scrolled across it's screen. His heart sank as the scrolling data revealed that mercenary forces were falling everywhere. The lower levels were almost entirely under their control. As he scrolled further, heading into more primary targets he paused, a blinking red alert beside the label; primary objective.

He couldn't believe it. Afterlife was holding.

Though he didn't want to believe it, when the attack started he knew that Aria's merc army wouldn't hold for long. But here they were, holding the club and even routing the Maw forces.

Curious, he tapped the blinking report. There was only a single picture: A blurry helmet cam pic that showed the entrance steps of Afterlife. The steps were covered with Krogan corpses, their armor crushed and sliced opened, or otherwise cut clean in half. And in the middle of all the carnage were four machines. Mechs in humanoid form, locked with Maw troops in hand to hand combat.

And they were winning.

His mind went back, searching for the name he'd heard a while ago. Finally he pulled it up: The Jaegers.

As he stared at the picture, an idea started to form. A crazy, ludicrous idea, but the more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed.

He dismissed the reports, and pulled up a comm number. After a quick call and going to unlock his door, he sat down to wait. It wasn't long before it opened and another Krogan in jet black armor stepped in.

"What do you want, runt?" the Krogan growled, crossing his arms and glaring.

Xran examined him for a moment before replying. "I heard that you were the one who followed the Jaegers back to their residence, defying your orders in the process."

"Yeah. What about it?"

Xran grinned as he leaned forward. "How about you and me go Jaeger hunting together."

* * *

**Took me a little longer then expected, but it's here. Thank you for your reviews. And maybe, just maybe, the twins might make a reappearance later on.  
**

**Hope you enjoyed, and I will see you next time.**

**DJ out!**


	15. The Rising Maw Part 9

"Hard left!"

Cherno's whole chassis creaked as he dug his heels into the metal flooring, momentum threatening to carry him past the alleyway. Growling, he grabbed the edge of the entrance and jerked to a stop before pulling himself back up and into the alley. Behind him Crimson made the turn easily, buzz saws held aloft.

"Shouldn't be too much further," he grunted, vents fanatically sucking in air as they cooled his systems. "Gipsy, how are you doing?"

"_Peachy,_" the reply came over their radio.

"_We're lost, wanker!_" Striker's irritated voice cut in.

"_And how is that my fault?_" she shot back. "_Fuck the directions, you said! Let's use our intuition, you said!_"

"_I never said that! I said follow the fucking gunshots, __idiot__!_"

"_Jerk._"

"_Wanker._"

Crimson sighed as he deactivated his radio. "Why did we let those two go together?"

Cherno didn't respond, focused more on putting as much power into his legs as he could.

After the initial assault on Afterlife had failed the Maws had fallen back into the alleys and passages surrounding the club, giving the defenders a break from the relentless onslaught. Problem was they kept popping back up at random, both with reinforcements and explosives. Aria looked ready to blow an artery the seventh time it happened and the retaliatory force she'd sent had failed to yield any results.

Then they were sent in.

Now it was just a game of cat and mouse as the Jaegers hunted the Krogan in the tight alleys of the station. Already the number of Maws had dwindled to a single group of three, the rest being wiped out when the Jaegers stumbled upon a staging area a few hundred meters from the club.

Cherno rumbled in contentment as he remembered the event. His arm pistons were still aching after being used so many times in the span of a few minutes. But it was all worth it, he thought as he clenched the heavy Claymore shotgun in his hand. It had been a 'gift' from one of the Maws who had been too slow to avoid his fists as they created a new understanding of pain. After the first shot had destroyed the unshielded armor of a Maw soldier he had instantly fallen in love with the weapon. It was big, powerful and it fit in his hand like a glove.

So this was how his parents felt when they first met, huh?

He drew his mind back into the present and once again focused on the situation. Currently they had split into two pairs to cover more ground in the twisting passages. He and Crimson had gone one way while Gipsy and Striker had wandered in the other direction. The thing that had got them running was the loud discharges of a shotgun close by, now it was only a matter of time to see who got there first.

Cherno turned another corner and instantly took in the three Krogan who were running towards him. A Centurian was in the lead, shield raised as the two black armored infiltrators flanking him raised their weapons.

Cherno's vision narrowed, seeing only the dull grey surface of the shield that kept him from from his new punching bag. A growl boiled up from his insides as he picked up speed, feet denting the flooring beneath him as he charged. The Krogan, to their credit didn't even blanch, only picked up the speed.

Rounds pinged off of Cherno's plating as the Centurian's SMG let loose, spraying the alley with fire. He weathered the attack like rain, storming through it to collide with the Centurian's shield head on with a mighty clang. The Krogan stood no chance as a literal ton of steel alloy knocked him flat and a piston powered fist entered his skull, pulping his brains into mush.

The two infiltrators had no time to react as Crimson engaged, swinging his arms in his signature Thundercloud formation. As he moved to engage, one of the Krogan reached down to his belt and pulled out a grenade, just as Cherno's shadow loomed behind him.

It detonated, the fiery explosion blooming in the tight alley, covering up the simultaneous retort of a shotgun and the dull crack of bone.

As the explosion faded, the alley faded into silence as a thick cloud of dust obscured the area. For a full minute nothing moved, saved the dust drifting through the air. Then a low metallic groan shattered the calm.

"Tell me about it," another voice grumbled in reply.

-Linebreak-

"So..." Gipsy trailed off awkwardly, trying hard not to stare.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Striker finished for her.

"Grenade," Crimson groaned, sinking back into his seat. The whole front of his chassis was scorched black, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He could feel the places where shrapnel had made to through the gaps in his armor and embedded themselves in his systems. They gave off a most curious tingling sensation, but he didn't particularly care. His primary focus was on Cherno, who sat beside him, a deep rent in his thigh plating.

Sighing as his back struts stretched, Crimson leaned down again and examined the injury.

In the few split seconds before the grenade had gone off, Cherno had managed to sneak in one last blow against the Krogan, while said Krogan tried to get revenge against the green giant. Cherno's fist had cracked it's skull like an egg, but the brute had managed to pull the trigger of his shotgun out of dying reflex. The Claymore had fired, sending a flaming carnage shot straight into the Jaeger's leg just above the knee. Though it was nowhere near as bad as Gipsy's injury had been, Cherno's thick armor negating most of the damage on his inner workings, it had still crippled the mighty machine.

Crimson groaned again as he felt something pop in his back. Cherno was heavy, and helping the Jaeger hobble all the way back to Afterlife left him feeling more exhausted then he had in days. But it appeared that Cherno was going to be fine. According to him the wound hurt just as much as a bug bite, or maybe that was just his Russian toughness talking.

As for repairs...well, that was a little more complicated.

The blue gas was back.

As Crimson leaned in, examining the rent in the Russian's armor and the damage within. The carnage shot, at point blank range had punched through the plating, but it was it's thickness that had saved Cherno from the worst of it. Still, the shot had managed to completely shred the wires and cables beneath the plating as well as, mercifully, severing the wire bundles that were his neural circuitry. Mostly likely why it didn't bother the green giant. But the most interesting feature of the injury was the severed hydraulic cables.

Normally these would be pumping hydraulic fluid throughout a Jaeger's body like a human's blood network. Instead, where there should be gushing fluid, there was a steady stream of the blue gas, obscuring the inside of the wound.

Crimson's vision narrowed as he activated his zoom function, sighting up the bundle of hoses he was examining earlier.

Yes... they had grown longer.

As he continued watching, he couldn't help but lose himself in the fascinating process happening before him. The blue gas was condensing on the ends of the hoses, growing into a tiny drop of glowing liquid before it seemed to harden, gaining the color of the material as solidified, adding another milimeter to the ruined metal. To Crimson, it looked like the piece was slowly _regrowing_ in the gentle haze that covered it. Wires, cables, tubes, even some old scratches left on his outer plating from a Kaiju were slowly closing.

Cherno rumbled, watching the spectacle unfold as he reached out a finger to poke at the rent in his armor.

"I know it feels weird," Crimson said, batting the finger away, "but don't touch it. We don't want to mess anything up."

Cherno rumbled again, tilting his massive head to the side questioningly.

"I still don't know what it is," Crimson admitted, shrugging. "But whatever it is, it's doing one heck of a good job."

A groan echoed from the green chassis.

"I don't think its dangerous, no," Crimson replied. "At least, it hasn't given us any reason to think that."

"Looks like space fart gas," Striker butted in, not looking up from the item in his hands.

Crimson spared him a glance. "You do realize it's probably inside you too, right?"

"Yeah whatever," the Australian mumbled, caressing the action on his new sniper rifle.

Cherno was hardly the only one to take a new weapon from the pile that the Maws had so generously 'donated.' The sniper rifle was an oddity, even to the experienced weapons dealers that they'd taken it to for identification. Except for a larger barrel, it was shaped much like a regular Black Widow, save a few notable differences. A widened grip, clearly designed for Krogan, and instead of the normal thermal clip insertion chamber, it had a large drum magazine affixed to the space just ahead of the grip, featuring a small slot where you could reload more clips.

Unlike normal sniper rifles, however, and much to Crimson's surprise, it didn't fire grains of sand scrapped off an ammo block. Instead, it fired a whole clip.

It was rather genius, Crimson thought. Impractical and inefficient, but genius none the less.

When the gun fired, it launched a thermal clip at the speed of light... or close to it. The heat built up from that shot would be transferred to the drum mag, were the next clips in line soaked it up. When the spent clips were ejected, one would be kept and loaded into the chamber for the next shot. The whole process overall ate up at least five thermal clips per shot. Highly inefficient, but he couldn't deny the devastating firepower behind it.

When Striker had got his hands on it, he had turned it on its previous owner and fired at point blank range. There had been an explosion and the Krogan just about disintegrated on impact. Striker had been ecstatic to say the least.

When arms dealers under Aria's control sought after a name for the weapon so they could re-sell it, Striker had stepped in and christened it: _The Striker __MK II_. After he had pulled out his blades no one dared argue with him.

"Uh... may I... have your attention?" a rough voice stammered.

Turning his head, Crimson noticed for the first time the lone Batarian grunt that stood beside their booth. The grizzled merc, who looked like he'd never shown respect to anyone at any point in his life, cowered under the unwavering, unblinking gaze of the four machines. He actually flinched when Cherno let out a questioning rumble.

"What do ya' want, wanker?" Striker growled.

"Uh... well, uh... Aria wants a report on your-"

"That's nice," Striker cut him off. "Now fuck off."

"We'll see her when we're ready," Crimson sighed, glaring at the Australian. He waved a hand dismissively and the Batarian scampered off, eager to be out of reach of the metal giants.

"Wow. He was really scared of us," Gipsy murmured, once again focused on cleaning the blood stains that had accumulated on her Revenent with a rag she gotten from the club bar.

"Well what would you expect?" Striker grunted, "we're badasses. Giant metal badasses."

"For once I have to agree," Crimson nodded, looking about the club.

In the short time that the attack had first started, Afterlife had turned into a veritable fortress. The dancers and loud obnoxious music were gone, replaced by a small army of armor clad mercs and the shouts of orders. There, in the middle of it all, they sat, like an island in the middle of raging sea.

Their booth, the same one they had sat in when they first arrived on the station, was carefully avoided by all who walked by. And for good reason.

Few in their right mind would chase after Krogan in the tight alleyways of Omega, and even fewer returned alive. Now, here they were, sitting around having a chat after massacring the whole Maw force in the span of a few hours. To the mercs in Afterlife they were the undefeated, unkillable walking tanks that could butcher the giant lizards as easily as a scythe through wheat.

So yeah, they had good reason to be scared of them.

Another sigh slipped from his vents as another pop came from his spine. It had been a long day.

The initial assault on Afterlife had sent the station into disarray. Comms had been cut in perfect sync with the attack, leaving half of Aria's forces in the dark and the other half under heavy fire and unable to call for help. It was only after the Jaegers had broken the assault on the club had communication been reestablished and the true scale of the attack was revealed. Most, if not all of Aria's footholds on the lower levels had been hit. The ones that had miraculously survived the initial onslaught were wiped out shortly after making radio contact.

Now that the alleys were clear, a line had formed between the two forces, confining the Rising Maws to the lower levels. The fight to keep that line, however, was costing Aria lives by the second, and it was only a matter of time before a group managed to break through and flank the defending force. That would certainly spell disaster for everyone on the station. From the reports coming in the Maws were showing no mercy to anyone. People cowering in their homes were gunned down without a second thought if encountered. This spawned a massive exodus to the upper levels away from the warmongering horde. This, of course, in most cases, put them directly in the path of the Maws.

Crimson's eye darkened as he remembered some of the terrible sites of such a massacre. All the bloodshed, bodies and death. He had thought that only Kaiju were capable of such carnage. But to see such an act committed by sentient beings who took pleasure in it made him sick.

A sigh worked it's way out of his vents. Despite fighting without rest for the past six hours, his limbs still itched to move, to strike back at the monsters responsible for all this. But his tiredness won out in the end, not to mention the scraps and dents the four of them had acquired from the nonstop fighting. Besides, Aria didn't want them heading out without her approval.

Honestly, he could care less about what she said right now, but it was his sense of duty to his brothers and sister that kept him seated.

They were tired, dented, and, in Cherno's case, crippled until further notice. To run off back into the fight would be foolish and stupid. Not to mention the fact that he had no idea where to go, where they were most needed.

He would have asked Kriln, but that was sadly out of the question. The unfortunate Turian had been at Afterlife when the first assault started, making a report to Aria. When the shooting had started he was pulled to the front lines where his brains were blown out of his skull by a sniper.

That seemed to be the unofficial disbanding of the GI-7. Jrel and Phil were nowhere to be found and he could only hope Aniya had managed to get off Omega along with her daughter. Now, it was only them remaining, the last remnant of the GI-7.

Not that it mattered to Crimson anymore. He just wanted to end this. To end the monsters responsible for all this destruction.

Suddenly, the loud retort of a shotgun echoed from somewhere in the club.

The assembly of mercs stiffened, listening as more gunshots followed before cutting out after a few seconds. A grim silence settled over the group before a shout of "all clear!" rang from one of Afterlife's many hallways.

The mercs relaxed, returning to their business as if nothing had happened.

Crimson let out another sigh as things returned to normal.

Aside from the attacks, the infiltrators were literal nightmares. Popping into existence to plant explosives or slaughter a group of mercs before vanishing back into nothingness. The frequency of their attacks was constant, a few of them even managing to make it inside Afterlife. It was only thanks to sheer amount of people inside the club that kept them from causing too much trouble. Advanced training and armor didn't make much of a difference when you're in a tight corridor with more then a dozen enemy guns on either side.

"They just don't know when to quit, do they?" a voice said from the next booth over.

Crimson turned his head and blinked in surprise as he saw the speaker: A Krogan in some of the most beat up grey armor he'd ever seen. But the main eye drawer was the beast's shear size. Even sitting in his booth, the alien reached an impressive seven feet in height. His face was visibly wrinkled with age, but his eyes burned with something Crimson couldn't place.

"Who are you and what the fuck do you want?" Striker said without looking up from his rifle.

The Krogan raised an eyeridge. "What? Friends can't talk among themselves now?"

"That depends, fatty," Striker shot back, looking up briefly. "Ain't seen you before in my life. Now fuck off."

Normally, Crimson would've cut off Striker's vulgar greeting, but something about the Krogan just rubbed him the wrong way.

The giant alien only gave a small smile at the Jaegers antics before looking at Crimson. "He's not the... politest of you, is he?"

"And proud of it," the Australian muttered, glaring at the Krogan.

"He has his moments," Crimson replied civilly. "But he has a point, who are you exactly?"

The smile dropped. "Ty."

Crimson's eye darkened in suspicion. "Ty?"

"Nickname," Ty shrugged. "Some other friends thought my name was too formal."

"Uh huh," Crimson nodded. "So what do you want exactly?"

"Well," Ty sighed, "you might say I'm... recruiting."

Cherno rumbled low in his chassis, hands tightening into fists.

"Recruiting," Crimson roughly translated. "For what?"

"You could say it a... revolution."

The word made the four Jaegers pause for a moment, before giving Ty their full attention.

"What do you mean, _revolution_?" Gipsy asked, pausing in the ministrations of her machine gun.

Glancing around at the surrounding mercs, Ty leaned across the booth divider before continuing in a low whisper. "Forgive me for prying, but you four are a little new here, right?"

"Correct," Crimson nodded.

"Well then... have you ever wondered why this place is known as the biggest shithole in the galaxy?"

The four machines shared a glance before Ty continued.

"When you think about it, it's all a matter of leadership. From the time this place was abandoned, its been ruled by pirates, gangsters, drug lords, take your pick. Greed runs this place, whether for money power, or whatever else you crave. That is the unfortunate cycle. The powerful rise and impose on the weak for their own gain. Krogan I may be, but I can't stand that kind of injustice."

Ty glanced around, looking each Jaeger in the visor.

"I can tell when I meet someone who shares my passion: Justice. When I think of Omega, the potential it could have, it makes me so angry that the place is ruled by scum like Aria. This place doesn't need a pirate queen who lets the evil run free to do her dirty work for her. It needs order. People who won't take shit from anyone to bring order and justice to this lawless station."

"So said a lot of people," Crimson said, eye darkening further in a glare. "They tried and were beaten down for their efforts. And if there's one thing people hate more then tyrants, it's saviors that give empty promises."

The others all nodded in agreement, a certain giant wall coming to mind.

"Maybe so," Ty nodded. "But this time its hardly empty words. The revolution is, literally on our doorstep."

"Our doorstep?" Crimson asked before the realization came. "You mean the Rising Maws," he continued in a dark tone.

"Right on the mark," Ty grinned. "You see, I'm not sure how far your knowledge on the organization goes, but I think your opinions are greatly biased."

"How so?" Crimson growled.

"Well, what is it this station needs? Order. And that is what the Maws represent. A single force, united in its purpose to bring justice to this den of thieves. The corruption and greed will all be washed away, and allow those less fortunate to truly have a chance of greatness without vices of crime."

"Fascinating," Crimson said, his glare never wavering. His bad feeling about Ty was getting worse with every word that came out of his mouth. "And what exactly is the cost? From what I've seen first hand they're hardly the knights you make them out to be."

"Sacrifices must be made," Ty said smoothly. "It's impossible to do things without sacrifices. Unfortunately, lives are most often the price we pay for big changes. But you can change all that."

Crimson's eye darkened further. "Excuse me?"

"I know what your thinking," the Krogan sighed sadly. "And I truly regret all the death this has caused. But again, who is to blame for it all? I'll tell you; the woman trying to hold onto her position, Aria. She spurs the populace into action, calming the Maws will kill indiscriminately and calling them to fight. Then they die, fighting for a worthless bitch sitting atop her throne."

He looked up, meeting Crimson's unblinking optic evenly. "But that can all change. People don't need to die needlessly. There is a way, to end this all peacefully: the head of Aria T'lok."

The other Jaeger's didn't even twitch, and Crimson had a feeling they had all known what was coming.

"So Aria dies," Crimson queried evenly, "what will that accomplish?"

"It'll end this... war, if you can call it that. It'll show the people they no longer have to fight for a lost cause." A small, sick grin came across his face. "And no one else has to die."

With those words, a light bulb flickered on in Crimson's head. This wasn't an appeal to their better nature, it was a threat. All the talk about Justice was just empty banter, and now his true message was revealed: Kill Aria, or everyone dies. Or, more likely, kill Aria and everyone dies anyway.

Beneath the table, his three hands clenched into fists and he forced his voice to remain calm as he responded. "That all sounds... fascinating, but-"

He was never more thankful then when his omni-tool chimed at that very moment. He glanced down at his wrist before rising from his seat. "Sorry to cut this short, but something just popped up."

Using all three of his arms to great effectiveness, he reached out and grabbed each of his friends by one of their metal plates and pulled them out of their seats despite their protests and dragged them towards the main door.

Ty watched them go, face betraying nothing as the door shut behind them. Though he didn't have high hopes coming in, he figured it had been worth a shot. Besides, if his plan worked, it would save them a lot of trouble in the future.

With a grunt, he heaved his mass out of the cramped booth and picked up his custom shotgun from the seat beside him. His eyes scanned the club and came to rest on a group of Aria's mercs that were just preparing to leave. No doubt to reinforce some barricades on the front.

As they trudged out the main entrance he started walking, inconspicuously trailing them as they wove through the twisting corridors of Omega. Soon the sounds of a heavy machine gun began to echo down the metal metal walls as the front line drew closer. The mercs began to prime their weapons, loading new thermal clips or activating glowing tech armor.

Ty eyed them all carefully, mentally going over the fastest way of disposal. His grip tightened around his shotgun as he took a few thermal clips from his belt and jammed them in the loading chamber.

The group turned another corner, finally coming to the barricade blocking off one end of a bridge that spanned two of Omega's towering spires. Cowering behind it were a few rattled mercs, surround by the bodies of their former comrades. Mounted on the barricade was a Dragoon Heavy Chaingun maned by a Vorcha, spraying unholy amounts of fire towards the other side of the bridge where the Rising Maws hunkered behind their own barricade.

The merc reinforcements hurried over, manning slits cut into the barricade, waiting for the inevitable attack.

It came, but from the wrong direction.

The Vorcha firing the gun screamed in surprise as an iron grip closed around his neck and shook it like a rag doll, snapping its neck like a dry twig.

The mercs were given no time to react as the body was flung at them, knocking a fair number of them against the barricade. As they tried to recover, Ty raised his shotgun; a double barrelled Claymore monstrosity and fired. The twin barrels erupted in a fiery volcano as twin Carnage shots blazed through the air, cutting through shields, armor and flesh alike.

The remaining mercs could only stare in shock as their friends were shredded to pieces. Then came a roar of wordless rage and blood lust as black armored Krogan vaulted over the barricade, knives gleaming as they tore into the helpless defenders.

Ty watched it all, a grim smirk spreading across his lips as he loaded a new clip into his weapon.

A large pool of blood started to form as the bodies were dropped to the floor, necks slashed opened or hearts carved out of their chests. In the middle of it all the bloodshed was an Infiltrator, a full head smaller then the rest, cleaning his blade on the torn loincloth the Vorcha had worn. Once he was sure it was spotless, he jammed it back into his sheath and stalked towards Ty.

The giant's grin grew shark-like as the short second in command stopped in front of him. "Having fun?"

Krual scowled. "No thanks to you. Why the hell do I even go along with this shit?"

"Because this 'shit' works," Titanus replied. "If a single seed can take root then the effort has not been wasted."

As the Infiltrators made to continue up past the barricade, Titanus raised a hand and waved it off. "No, we hold position here. Set up our defences and flip that Dragoon around."

The Infiltrators glanced at each other, frustration evident under their helmets as they moved to follow his orders. As they worked on removing the gun from it's mounting, Krual stepped up grumbling in annoyance. "Why the hell are we even wasting time with this? I don't care what those metal freaks do, we'll tear them apart along with the blue bitch."

"Just like the other times you tried?" Titanus challenged, casting the shorter Krogan a glare. "The hit on Afterlife should have been quick, efficient and have the place under our control in a matter of hours. Instead we lost nearly half the attack force and got pushed back all the way to here. Those _metal freaks_ as you call them could very well decide the whole war, and if I have a chance to turn them on their own then I'll take it."

Krual opened his mouth to protest but he beat him to it. "We'll hold here until the reinforcements show up. If Aria isn't dead by then we'll take Afterlife by storm. I expect Xran has contacted you about the troop allocations?"

A smirk crossed Krual's features. "Yeah, about that, we got a problem."

At Titanus' questioning look he elaborated. "Turns out your precious little runt isn't as dependable as you think he is. I got word from the Chop Shop while you were out that said he walked out."

"Walked out?"

"Left the base. Reports say he was headed up, following one of my Infiltrators. No one has seen them since.

Titanus scowled, reaching up and scratching his chin as he mulled it over in his mind. This wasn't like his Commander at all. Something must have happened.

"Send out a search warent," he growled. "Anyone sees him they bring him to me... _unharmed_," he added, giving Krual a pointed look.

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever."

There was a pause, in which the only sounds to be heard were the grunts and clanks as the Infiltrators turned the turret around.

"If they actually do it," Krual said at last. "Hypothetically speaking, if they do kill her, what happens to them then?"

Titanus gave him a sick smile. Then he pointed his shotgun down the hallway and fired, tearing apart a merc that had just turned the corner.

"What do you think?"


	16. The Rising Maw Part 10

"Alright, alright! We'll take care of-"

The door slammed shut, the holographic display turning red as the locks engaged, leaving Crimson staring at the cold metal, fingers twitching as the shear amount of illogical accusations crashed onto his mind. His non-existent jaw clenched and his eye flickered as the past two minutes replayed in his mind.

"That..." he growled, searching for the right word. "That... that... _bitch!_"

Two startled gasps and a shocked warble came from behind his back. He turned and saw Gipsy, Striker and Cherno standing there, shock written all over their glowing visors.

"What?" he asked.

"Did he just...?" Gipsy gasped. Cherno nodded gravely.

"He sure did," Striker agreed in awe.

"I did what?" Crimson asked, giving them a questioning look.

"You swore," the Australian beamed. "You actually swore!"

He paused for a few seconds before his shoulders sagged and he grumbled, "I should probably be disgusted about I how proud I am right now."

Crimson's eye started flickering again, for entirely different reasons. "Is that _really_ the ONLY thing you think about?!"

"Well you have to admit, that is the first time we've ever you swear," Gipsy shrugged. "You're like the goody two shoes of language."

Though lacking a real face, Crimson's stare of disbelief was almost palpable as his eye shifted between the three of them. "...Really?"

Cherno keened, nodding again.

"No," Crimson growled. "I mean, why are we even talking about this?"

There was a moment of silence before the three gave a collective shrug. Crimson gave them one last glare before turning and stomping down the hallway of their apartment complex, muttering, "children... I'm surrounded by children."

The encounter with Ty in Afterlife had left him in a bad mood, and though the message he'd gotten from their landlady had been, thankfully, distracting, the rant she had given him once they'd gotten there brought his mood to all new lows. According to her, two Rising Maw Krogan had been able to sneak into the place past all of her sophisticated security systems.

According to security footage, they hadn't done anything malicious, only searching up and down the halls as if searching for something. But that didn't stop the black armored one from executing anyone they encountered. There were no less then a dozen bodies laid out in the hallways after the Krogan had made started on their search.

But they had found what they wanted, and Crimson had seen them stop, hack the front door to their apartment and enter. But they hadn't come back out yet, a fact which worried him.

Of course, their landlady wasn't so worried. She blamed them for the break in, the deaths of her tenants and a few other unrelated issues revolving around the problem. As Crimson tried to apologize for her troubles she had practically ordered them to get rid of the oversized lizards before slamming her door in his face.

The encounter had left him seething, but, at the same time, puzzled.

If the Krogan were here to try and kill them, why send only two? They practically decimated a quarter of the Maw army single-handedly, what made them think that two grunts could take them down?

The situation felt wrong, and as their door started coming into view his arms silently shifted into buzzsaws, ready for a fight. Behind him, he heard the sounds of three oversized guns being readied for action.

He idly wondered what would happen if Striker fired his ego incarnate and missed. If that was the case, bodies in the hall would be the last of their problems. The most Gipsy's Revenent and Cherno's Claymore could do was punch holes in the walls, but Striker's _Striker_ could penetrate a tank and blow it up from the inside.

He didn't know about the other three, but Crimson had no intention to explain to their host how, or even why their wall and room on the other side had been blown to smithereens.

The door to their room was unlocked when they reached it, seemingly inviting them into the trap Crimson was so sure lay beyond. Only once the others had gathered behind him, weapons peeking over his shoulders like a firing squad did he slap the door controls.

The door opened with a slight hiss, opening to reveal a scene he expected, but at the same time, didn't expect. There was no ambush for one. No guns opened up on them the moment the door opened and nothing charging them with an intention to tear them to ribbons.

But there had been a fight though; that much was apparent by the dead Krogan lying in a pool of his own blood, a knife stuck neatly in the center of his helmet. Slowly, both their visors and weapons turned towards the broken couch where the victor of the dual, a Krogan in grey armor with a red stripe across his chest, sat motionless.

"Uh..." Striker trailed off, glancing at the body. "The fuck happened here?"

At the sound of his voice, the Krogan stirred, turning his head and regarded them with cold eyes.

"About time you got here," he rumbled. There was a clatter as he tossed a Claymore shotgun to the ground and kicked it away. There was a second clatter as the ammo block joined it on the ground.

"Who are you?" Crimson demanded as the four moved to surround the couch, weapons trained on the intruder.

"I'm a deserter, and that's all you need to know," the Krogan grunted. "But that's not why I'm here. I have information, if you care to hear it."

"Information?" Crimson asked, sharing a questioning glance with the others. "About what?"

"And why the fuck should we listen to a fucking coward like you," Striker growled. "Fucking deserter."

"I have information," the Krogan repeated, "and I don't have a lot of time. Take it or leave it."

"And what makes it worth _our_ time?" Crimson demanded back.

After a moment of consideration, the Krogan shrugged. "Fair enough. I have a way for you to win this war."

He gave a small grin as he saw them straighten in surprise.

"I've seen you fight," he continued. "Your good. Very good. You might actually have a chance at this."

Cherno growled low in his chassis, asking a question that didn't need translating.

"To kill my old leader."

At their confused silence, the Krogan sighed. "This war has to end. Our reasons might not be the same, but we have a common goal, and that's good enough. The Maw army is big, too big for you to take down on your own. That's why I'm here."

Crimson's eye narrowed. "Explain."

The Krogan grinned darkly. "I can't. That would spoil the surprise. All you need to know is that in a few days time, a trade will take place that will leave the whole Maw army crippled. There's not a lot of details, but it'll kill them all in a week or less."

"That's it?" Striker growled. "Ya' break in to tell us we win in a few days. Brilliant plan. Fucking brilliant."

"If it were that easy I wouldn't have come here," the Krogan glared back. "If left the way it is, the rest of the Maw leadership will find a way to stop it. You need to kill them if you want to win this."

"Well isn't that fucking obvious."

"I mean it," the Krogan growled. "Kill their two leaders, and the others will be powerless to stop what's coming. But it has to be done fast. If you wait too long, the event will take place and they'll realize something is wrong. If that happens, you'll lose."

The four shared glances. To the outside world they were silent, on the radio, however:

"_The fuck is going on here?_" Striker exclaimed.

"_A 'win the war quick' scam apparently,_" Gipsy quipped. "_Like all those weight loss commercials back home._"

A low rumble echoed over the line.

"_Fuck no!_" Striker shouted. "_Never trust a deserte__r, they're the scum of the world!_"

"_Uh... we're not on a..._"

"_Fine! A station, whatever! It's the fucking galaxy for all I care! It's a trap, that's what this is!_"

"_Or he could be telling the truth,_" Crimson butted in. "_I mean, all he told us to do was kill the Rising Maw leaders and the war is over. He isn't leading us somewhere to be ambushed._"

"_Oh yeah, and how do you know that?_"

"_What is your problem with this? We have a chance to end this quick with as little death as possible and you don't want to._"

"_What makes _you_ so okay with it?_" The Australian retorted. "_He may be trying to paint himself as a good guy, but I won't trust a fucking deserter. __You don't just abandon your duty and run like a fucking coward to join the other side._"

"_Even if your duty is to slaughter thousands of civilians._" Crimson shot back."_Would you run from that?_"

Silence.

Crimson sighed, air rushing out of his vents as his shoulders slumped, the first outward signs of the conversation. "_Listen, Striker, I don't like this either. We don't know why he's here, but he's giving us a way to end this._"

Cherno rumbled, giving him a pointed look.

"_We don't know that,_" Crimson replied. "_This doesn't seem like the right setup for a trap. He's asking for an assassination, not giving us a location. That means he want's us to do it our way, meaning there's less chance that they'll be able to see us coming and anticipate our movements. We're making the playing field, not them._"

Another rumbled.

"_True._"

Crimson switched off his radio, addressing the Krogan, who had been watching the silent exchange with half lidded eyes.

"Why?" the Jaeger asked. "Why will killing your former leaders help us?"

"Internal conflict," the Krogan grunted. "The Maws may be well trained and... _disciplined_, but they're still Krogan, and more power hungry then the rest. When the head gets cut off others will rise to take their place. Hell, maybe even the grunts will try their luck for the throne. They don't fear you, and they don't fear the rest of the station. They think of you as vermin, things to be ignored or crushed. So, when the head is gone they will all turn inward in one big brawl for power in the classic Krogan election process: Last man standing. With luck, you'll only have to deal with a few battle groups before phase two kicks in."

"And what is phase two?" Crimson asked.

"Classified." A sick smile slowly spread over his lips. "But I will say this: You need to tell Aria to watch the environment systems on the upper levels. The moment the lower system registers a hard containment reboot, separate the systems."

"A containment reboot?" Crimson questioned.

"Just tell that to the operators in the environment systems, they'll know what to do."

"But what is it?" Crimson pressed.

The Krogan frowned. "If you want to kill everyone else on this station you'll do as I say. I didn't have to tell you that. I could have let everyone in this hellhole die a painful death, but I planned around that. If you want to ignore it, be my guest, but their deaths are on your hands then."

The glaring match that followed was broken by Crimson's resigned growl. "Fine, have it your way. But let me ask you something: Why are you doing this? Why are you helping us?"

The alien scoffed. "I'm not doing to for you. I have my own reasons, none of which concern you. But it leaves us with a common enemy and a shared victory. You do it, you save Omega."

"And whats in it for you, bastard?" Striker demanded.

"Nothing that concerns you," the Krogan shot back.

"So say we do listen to you," Crimson asked, moving to stand in front of the armored alien. "Say we do go along with this, how do we find them? Is there a command center they have set up?"

"Yes. But the place is so heavily guarded you'd be torn to shreds. No, the bast way would be to draw them out somehow."

"Draw them out, huh?" Crimson muttered, mind going back to the Krogan they met in Afterlife and his none to subtle threat. "That could work. You wouldn't happen to have his call number, do you? Your leader's, I mean?"

The Krogan's gave him a raised eye ridge before waving his omni-tool through the air. Crimson's own device pinged as a data packet was revived.

"That should get you in touch with him," the Krogan grunted, rising from his spot on the couch.

"And where the fuck do you think you're going?" Striker asked, stepping forward and blocking his way as the Krogan headed for the door.

"Out," the alien replied simply. "I don't know about you, but I have a ship off of Omega to catch."

"Oh, and who said you got to leave?"

A smirk came across his features as the Krogan pulled a detonator out a pouch on his belt and flicked it open. "Says the twenty grenades I've planted around the room."

He jerked his hand away, dodging Striker's grab and held his thumb over the button. "You honestly thought that I was stupid enough to come in here without insurance? That you would just let me go?"

Striker's visor blazed in fury at his smug expression. "You fucking bloody coward."

"I'm alive," the Krogan replied. "And can you say you wouldn't do the same? Call me a coward if you want, but I'm running. I'm getting off this shithole"

A tense standoff that followed was broken only by a low, angry rumble from Cherno. Then Crimson grunted and deactivated his buzzsaws before jerking his head towards the door. "Fine. Get out."

The other three shot him incredulous looks but he ignored them, carefully watching the Krogan as he walked to the door and tapped the display. Before he stepped out, he flicked the detonator shut and tossed to Crimson who caught it one handed. Then the door slammed shut and all hell broke lose.

First came Striker's "WHAT THE FUCK!" followed closely by Gipsy's "You let him go?!" and Cherno's delighted rumble as he snatched up the Claymore shotgun that the Krogan had left on the floor.

Crimson just let it wash over him, mind turned inward as a plan started to form. A crazy, stupid plan, but a plan none the less.

A hand grabbing his shoulder finally broke him out of his thoughts as Striker's angry visor filled his vision. "What the fuck were you thinking?! You just let him go!"

"And what's wrong with that?" Crimson shot back, shoving him away.

"Fucking everything! Who knows what else that wanker did! Maybe he did more then plant a few fucking grenades!"

"Yeah, about that," Crimson interrupted holding up the detonator to reveal a small display on it's side. "If you had actually looked you would have seen it wasn't connected to anything at..."

The detonator was swiped out his hand, dropped on the floor and stomped on viciously by a silver armored foot, accompanied by a chorus of curses. Only once the device had been ground into powder did Striker look up.

"Fine, maybe he was fucking lying about the bombs, but what about other shit?!" he screamed, gabbing a finger at Crimson chest. "He's already a fucking liar! Leaving Omega my ass! He probably just went back to report to his buddies to expect the biggest fucking idiots who walk into traps on a daily basis! So why the fuck did you let him go?!"

A thousand answers raced through his mind, but none of them seemed to fit the growing frustration that Crimson could feel building inside him. Maybe it was his sense of honor that made him do it. A favor for a favor. But the more he thought about it, the more one single idea filled his mind.

This had to end. This war, the Maws, it had to end. The things he'd seen the Maws do made his core burn in rage. They were monsters, and it was their job to end them, by any means necessary.

"Because this has to end," he replied steely, looking Striker dead in the visor. "You've all seen what I've seen. The Maws are killers, slaughtering everyone who crosses their path. They're monsters, and we were made to _kill_ monsters."

The fire in Striker's gaze started to shift, burning with another flame.

"I don't care if he was lying," Crimson continued, "I don't care if his plan is a trap, we _will_ end this. If he chooses to go back then he will die, but he did have good advice: Cut off the head of the snake, and the rest will follow."

He turned to Gipsy and saw her nodding along with his words.

"We were made to kill monsters," he repeated with conviction. "We did it once and we can do it again."

His words seemed to ring in the air, resonating beneath their plating and making their struts tingle with excitement.

"Well... when you put it like that..." Striker murmured, his voice sounding rather horse. "I can't say I like it, but what the fuck are we waiting for?"

"You have a plan?" Gipsy asked, her voice harder then the steel she was made of.

"It's coming together," Crimson nodded. "Though there are some things we need to get ready. Gipsy, you're coming with me. Striker, we need a skycar. Cherno..."

There was a questioning growl as the Russian turned around, duel wielding two Claymore Heavy shotguns, a truly terrifying sight be behold if you were of the organic variety.

"You... uh," Crimson stammered, trying not to picture Cherno in the same pose atop a mountain of bodies. "Just, uh, go with Striker. And please, make it fast."

-Linebreak-

The skycar wobbled again, making the occupants glare at the pilot.

"I swear, it wasn't me this time," Striker grumbled, adjusting his grip on the control column.

From his place in the back set, Cherno growled sarcastically.

"I said maybe," Striker retorted. "And I think I'm doing pretty good for only an hour of flight experience."

Another growl.

"Shut up! It's better then your flying, at least."

"Can we please keep this civil?" Crimson butted in, cradling a package in his hands. "We are pulling off the mother of all suicide missions to date. Let's not let the stress get to us."

"So jumping head long into the Breach _wasn't_ a suicide mission?" Gipsy pipped up from beside Cherno. "Good job making my last life seem completely pointless."

A pause, then a questioning keen.

"I blew up," she deadpanned. "That's suicide. Trust me, I know, because I _died_."

The Russian shrugged, letting out a groan.

"Okay, maybe it was a noble sacrifice, but I still died. That's makes it, you know, a suicide mission."

"Alright, let's stop talking about suicide missions," Crimson interrupted, looking over his shoulder at the two. "From now on, it is simply us going to someplace and killing someone. That better?"

After a moment of consideration, the two nodded, proceeding to pull up their weapons from in between their knees: Gipsy her Revenent machine gun, and Cherno his two Claymore shotguns. The display of raw firepower and strength would have been enough to give even a Thrasher Maw pause.

Sighing, Crimson turned back to the windshield, watching the towering spires of Omega as they sped by.

This was it. Quite possibly the turning point of the whole war, and here they were winging it like a DIY bookshelf from Ikea. It didn't help that the closer they got to their destination, the more Crimson's core clenched in anticipation.

This had the real possibility of blowing up in their faces, big time.

Their plan; lure out the Maw leaders by saying they had the head of Aria T'lok in a bag and wanted to show to them.

For once, Crimson agreed with Striker on the fact that their plan was a heaping pile of bullshit. But it was all they had to go on, and so far it was going along just fine.

He'd made the call right before they left, using the number the Krogan gave them. The voice on the other end, while sounding familiar, was no less surprised when it heard that Aria was dead. Of course it asked for proof, whereupon Crimson asked for a rendezvous where they could meet in private. It had taken a while, getting to the point where they had started thinking it hadn't worked, but finally the voice came back, giving them the coordinates of certain warehouse on the lower levels.

They were almost there, only a few minutes away. Opening his vents, he sucked in the cool air, held it for a moment before releasing it, easing some of the tension in his gut. The pre-battle calmness was beginning to set in, but it did little to settle his nervousness.

He took another breath, glancing down to the package in his hands. Well, it wasn't really a package, just a simple cloth bag filled with a lumpy roundish object. The only think that gave away it's contents was the dark stain on the bottom that dripped a thick, sticky blue fluid onto his thigh. He idly wondered if he should act more disgusted with what was inside but decided against it. They wouldn't need it for much longer anyway.

"Here we are," Striker announced, pulling the side and towards the hanger entrance to a large warehouse.

A dry rumble came from the back.

"Yes I brushed up on my landing!"

He guided the car over to a marked out space in the empty hanger and cut the power. The vehicle dropped like a stone, hitting the ground with a hard jolt, rattling all it's passengers.

"Ha! How's that for a perfect landing?"

They all glared at him. The Australian ignored it, popping the hatch before stepping out and stretching his cramped legs. The others all squeezed out, dragging their weapons with them. Once she had extricated herself from the tight cab, Gipsy reached back in and pulled out Striker's _Striker_ before tossing it at him. He caught it one handed and began checking the number of thermal clips in the drum mag.

"Right," Crimson started, gripping the bag tightly as a few drops of liquid fell to the ground. "We all ready?"

Cherno growled grimly, holding both his Claymores aloft like a western gunslinger. Gipsy let her Revenent answer for her, the signature red hologram of incendiary ammo coating the weapon in an intimidating jacket. Striker merely pulled the action on his rifle, hearing the satisfying click as a round was loaded in.

"Lets get this fucker," he grunted.

With that, Crimson turned and started towards the door on the far side of the hanger, the others following behind him.

It was the same warehouse that both he and Gipsy had visited less then a week ago when helping Aniya. He noticed it hadn't really changed much under Maw control. The hanger was still mostly empty, save for a few modified garbage hullers turned troop transports parked against the wall.

As per the agreement they arranged over the call, the place seemed completely deserted. Of course, Crimson wasn't dumb enough to believe that for an instant. Doubtless, dozens of enemy troops were hiding somewhere in the massive complex just waiting for the word to strike, but that didn't stop them from heading deeper into the facility. They were on a mission, and nothing was going to stop them now.

The connecting passages passed in a blur as the pre-battle calm set in, all unnecessary thoughts pushed to the back of their minds as the door to the main atrium opened silently. As they crossed the threshold, Crimson quickly hid the bag behind his back, thinking it best to keep them guessing and off their ploy as long as possible. And just in time too as they entered into the main area.

It hadn't changed much since Crimson had last seen it, except for the distinct lack of crates anywhere. A quick glance around confirmed that the room was completely bare of any pieces of cover and that only the ladders that went up to the catwalks remained. The main door on the far side of the room was wide open, giving them a good view of the area outside. It also cast the silhouettes of the two Krogan standing in the middle of the warehouse into sharp reflef. One of them was smaller then Striker, and the other was the same Krogan they encountered in Afterlife; Ty. His giant ten foot frame struck an impressive figure compared to his short, black armored counterpart beside him.

"_There's the__y are._" Striker growled over the radio.

"_Wait!_" Crimson said quickly, stopping him before he could raise his rifle. "_Let's see if we can't get something more out of this._"

"_It's y__our funeral._"

They marched forwards, stopping fifteen feet away from the pair. Glowing visors met bright eyes as the two parties glared at each other. A minute passed before Ty snorted.

"Well, here you are at last."

"Sorry, traffic was a bit tight," Striker growled. "So you're the fucker behind all this, eh?"

"Indeed," Ty nodded. "In that light I would like to reintroduce myself: My name is General Titanus, leader of the Rising Maws, soon to be the New Krogan Empire."

"That's... _nice_," Crimson said slowly, searching for anything they could use to their advantage in this fight. "But we didn't come here to listen to you gloat."

Titanus nodded. "Of course. But I am... surprised you chose to except my offer."

"Well, it took some consideration," Crimson said, fingering the bag. "But it seemed like the only thing we could do."

The shorter Krogan scoffed, looking sceptical. "So you say. But how do we know she's really dead?"

In response, Crimson drew the bag out and brandished it in the air. The dark stain on the bottom letting loose a steady stream of dripping fluid.

Titanus eyes widened a fraction as he hummed appreciatively. The shorter one seemed less then impressed, something Crimson didn't miss.

"_Striker,_" he murmured. "_How good is your aim?_"

"_Good enough. Where do you need it?_"

"_Take the small one, the rest of us will go after the General __on my signal__. Everyone got it?_"

As the others gave the affirmative Titanus started laughing.

"I didn't believe you'd actually do it!" he laughed, slowly slipping his hand behind his back towards his holstered shotgun.

"Yeah, me neither," the short one grunted, not sharing his humor.

"Ah, that's just perfect," Titanus continued, laughter calming down to a few sparse chuckles as he brought his shotgun to bear. "I would have loved to see the look on her face."

Now came the double cross they had all seen coming a mile away.

"Oh, she was surprised," Crimson said, playing along as the others tensed. "In fact, we got the proof right here. Catch!"

Before they could react, Crimson drew back his arm and threw the bag with all his might at Titanus' head, at the same time screaming into the radio: "_Striker now!_"

Two things happened at the same time. First; on his signal, Striker had his rifle up and ready in an instant, aiming squarely at the shorter Krogan's head. But for all his speed as a Mark. V, he was a second too slow in pulling the trigger. The Krogan saw it, diving to the side as the round sailed by, missing his head by an inch. Second; the bag hit Titanus square in the face and Crimson heard the wet squish as the blue melon/orange-like fruit hidden inside burst, staining the rest of the fabric and blinding the beast. But while his vision was impaired, his basic instinct wasn't. His drawn, doubled barrelled shotgun came up, pointing in the direction he'd last seen the red Jaeger.

The weapon fired, sending twin carnage blasts blazing through the air. Crimson barely dodged them in time, rolling away as they roared by. Even before he was halfway through the motion, his buzz-saws were out and ready, and the moment his feet were back on the ground he charged, weapons singing their deadly tune.

At the same time, Cherno level his two Claymores with an angry growl before letting loose his own barrage of firepower.

Titanus growled, throwing the damp bag aside and wiping the last of the juices away, just as the shots hit. The first blast stuck his shields, making them flare right before the second round hit, shattering them completely with a sound like breaking glass. As the flash faded, Crimson's red chassis rushed him from the side, drawing back his arms in preparation to strike.

Moving with a speed that seemed impossible for his ten foot bulk, Titanus nimbly stepped aside, narrowly dodging Crimson's single right arm and drove his fist into the Jaeger's side. Crimson gasped as the blow landed, denting his plating and throwing him off balance. Taking advantage of this, Titanus grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully behind his back while at the same time turning him to shield himself from anymore incoming fire.

What he didn't count on were Crimson's three back rockets flaring to life, burning through his chest piece and scorching the skin beneath. The shock of the burning was just enough to make his grip slacken, giving Crimson the chance to shake his arm loose before driving both of his left elbows into his chin.

Titanus went down hard on his back, blinking away the spots that appeared in his vision, only to see Crimson turning, arms raised high and ready to strike. Unconcerned, Titanus gave him a quick kick in the torso, putting another dent in the red metal. The blow was just enough to make the Jaeger stagger back, trip over his own feet and crash into Cherno, who had dropped his shotguns and rushed in to help.

As they tried to untangle themselves, Titanus, spat out a globule of spit and blood. This was going to be more difficult then he'd originally thought. He jabbed a button on his omni-tool before quickly going to reload his own weapon. The double barrelled Claymore may have been his favourite, but it ate up ammo like a bitch. But the firepower it gave was one of the best tradeoffs he'd seen in centuries.

He had just slid the new thermal clip into place when he glanced up and forced to roll away a green fist slammed into the ground where his head had been moment before. He came out of it, rising to his feet and saw the green form of Cherno Alpha coming in for another skull crushing blow. Growling, he tossed his gun aside and caught the incoming fist inches away from his face.

Though the mech was a full foot shorter then him, it's strength was far more then he had anticipated, making him slide back, even as he fought to keep the thing's fist away from his cranium.

He wasn't one to call for backup, but as he saw the red blur of Crimson Typhoon charging in from the side, he couldn't help but hope that the reinforcements would hurry up.

-Linebreak-

Krual groaned, shaking away his blurred vision as he crawled to his knees.

Though he had designed the _Thrasher M89 _and had seen the results they had on organic targets firsthand, none of them had survived long enough to give an accurate description afterwards. Now, after having a shot breeze by his head, he could feel one of effects coming on.

He couldn't hear shit. The concussive force the round had generated, no less then an inch away from his ears had ruptured his eardrums. Already he could feel blood welling up inside his hearing canals. Even with his regeneration, it would take a while before he could hear again. But that wasn't the thing that angered him at the moment:

They had used his own weapon _against_ him! How dare they!

He growled, the sound coming in muted and barely audible, as he stood and saw the silver frame of Striker Eureka stalking towards him, tossing down his own weapon before his sting blades jumped out of his forearms. The Jaeger's visor flashed, saying something that Krual could only assume was an insult.

He didn't have time for this.

Flicking his wrist, his omni-tool flashed to life as it activated the cloaking mods in his armor. As Striker looked on, his form shimmered once before vanishing into thin air.

-Linebreak-

"Fuck!"

Striker spun on his heel, scanning every which way for any sign of where the sneaky little bastard had gotten to.

"Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck!" He whirled around. "Gipsy!"

Her head turned, away from the Revenent which was held ready and waiting for a shot when Crimson and Cherno got out of the way.

"What?"

"Come help me find this wanker!"

Her visor brightened in grim amusement. "You lost him?"

"Shut up the fuck up and help me!"

Grumbling, she turned her head in a slow rotation, trying to ignore the painful sounding clangs coming from the other fight. Suddenly, her gaze was drawn to a particular spot.

"There!" she shouted, pointing to one of the ladders leading to the catwalks. It was rattling and shaking, just as if someone small but heavy was climbing it as fast as they could.

They where after him in an instant. Though whoever it was had made to the top, they could still hear his footsteps on the metal grating as he ran.

Striker made it there first, grabbing the rungs and, not even testing to see if the ladder could take his weight, started climbing. The metal groaned in protest as he made it to the top, followed closely by Gipsy. Without giving her a second thought, Striker took off in the direction that the invisible Krogan had gone, sting blades at the ready.

Gipsy hefted her machine gun, preparing to follow when something else drew her attention.

It was the front door, wide open and inviting.

She cocked her head in curiosity. Why leave the front door open when you're expecting an attack? An escape route?

Her visor darkened in thought before it brightened again in realization. Then she started running, the opposite way Striker had gone, towards the section of catwalk that hung above the open doorway, the metal grating groaning in protest every step she took.

-Linebreak-

The worst part about being deaf, Krual decided, other then the obvious fact that he couldn't hear shit, was the devastating lack of situational awareness it came with.

Not many Krogan realized that they relied on their hearing so much. Now, only once it was gone he'd lost his did Krual actually realize it.

Sparing occasional glances at the fight going on down below between Titanus and the Jaegers was now the only way he could keep tabs on the battle. A severe handicap when he needed his eyes to watch where he was going. It also didn't help that he couldn't even hear himself and the kinds of noises he was making, a big factor in trying to be stealthy.

He stopped suddenly, unfolding his Thrasher M89 and propping it up on the catwalk railing before peering through the scope. He scowled as he saw the situation.

Things might have been going according to plan, but that didn't mean they were going well.

Titanus was up to his neck in trouble, grappling with the green Jaeger as the red one charged in from the side.

For a moment, it looked like it was all over. Then Titanus fell back, grabbing the Jaeger and pulling it with him before using it's own momentum to toss it over his fallen form and into it's comrade.

Krual grunted in approval. Titanus might have been more of thinker then anything else, but he sure knew how to fight. And, Krual thought, grinning as his scope settled on the two Jaegers as they tried to untangle themselves, he could give him just the perfect openings for double kills.

Just as his finger brushed the trigger, something troubling dawned on him.

While he couldn't hear, he could still feel, and what he felt was the catwalk shaking beneath him and getting more violent by the second. Just as if something heavy was running toward him.

He ducked out of pure instinct, dodging the silver fist by mere centimeters as it flew through the space where his head was moments ago. Once it was past he dove away, putting as much distance between himself and the mech as he could. He knew well enough that he couldn't beat it in close quarters. Fortunately, he had one of the best anti-armor weapons at his disposal.

He landed hard on his shoulder before scrambling to his feet, rifle raised and ready to backpedal at a moments notice. But as he got the Jaeger in his sights, he saw something so ludicrous and random that he couldn't help but stop and stare.

Striker Eureka was standing there, in the same place where he'd missed the first punch. But it wasn't that which had gotten his attention. The metal plates that made up the Jaeger's chest had slide aside, revealing... something.

Krual blinked, mouth opened in a mixture of surprise and disgust. He didn't know who made this cursed machines, but he must have been one sick bastard to add _nipples_ of all things! And that wasn't even the worst of it: _Six_ of them.

As his mind reeled back at what he was seeing, he almost missed it when the six _things_ on it's chest bloomed with black smoke and flame, sending six flying missiles towards his face, faster then the eye could follow.

In the brief milliseconds before the warheads made contact, a strange thought occurred to him.

He had just been flashed to death... by a _mech._

-Linebreak-

The explosion echoed through the warehouse, drawing Titanus' eyes to the various fleshy pieces falling from the catwalk that used to be his second in command. His killer leaned over the railing, glaring at the remains of Krual's skull on the ground.

"Fuck you, wanker!"

Well, that would complicate things a bit. No matter, this would all be over soon enough.

A noise was gradually growing over the sounds combat. A low rhythmic that was slowly getting nearer. As they rose to their feet, Crimson and Cherno both cocked their heads, hearing it for the first time. Slowly, their gaze drifted over towards the warehouse's open door. Through it they could see the growing mass of Rising Maw troops rushing the building as fast as their legs could carry them.

Titanus smiled, turning to give the Jaegers a smug look.

He'd explicitly ordered all his men outfitted with the heaviest weaponry they could get their hands on; grenade launchers, rocket launchers, heavy machines and anything else they could find before sending them off to lie in wait for his signal. Armor or not, not even these mechs could withstand the shear amount of firepower that was coming their way.

His smile grew even wider as they reached the door, rushing in with raised weapons, all pointing at...

"KAMIKAZE!"

The shout took him complete off guard, as did the figure that leaped from the catwalk, crushing the first few troopers beneath her. The rest all stalled, not expecting any resistance at all. The opening was all Gipsy needed.

Her sword flashed in the light as it cleaved a Krogan in two before the Revenent in her other hand opened up with a hail of flaming projectiles. Shields shattered under the barrage, the heavy rounds punching through armor and burying themselves in flesh, slowly smouldering inside their targets.

As the first wave of Krogan fell, Gipsy sheathed her blade and reach for the door, swinging it shut on it's rusty hinges. It was almost there when the Krogan realized what was happening. They surged forward, pressing against the door and pushing with all their might. Gipsy yelped in surprise, dropping the Revenent and digging in her feet as she fought to keep the door from opening. Despite her efforts, it was a losing battle, her feet sliding back an inch at a time.

"Someone!" she screamed as arms pushed through the growing opening, "anyone, HELP!"

A metallic roar was her answer as Cherno charged over, bringing his incredible three ton weight to bare as he dipped his shoulder and slamming into the door full force. The Krogan pressed against it felt their very bones shudder Cherno struck, slamming against the door and forcing it shut. The troopers who had managed to sneak arms and hands through the gap now found themselves reeling back, grasping at bloody stumps.

A dull thunk resonated through the door as upgraded locking systems slid into place, sealing the enraged Krogan out.

"Wow," Gipsy chuckled, taking a step back and admiring their handiwork as the sound of pounding fists leaked through the metal. "Talk about a shutout win, huh?"

Letting out a resigned growl, Cherno lightly slugged her in the shoulder.

"Come on, it wasn't that bad!"

"Yes it was!" Striker's shouted from the catwalk.

Giving an angry huff, Gipsy turned. "Like you could come up with something bet..." The words died in her speakers, horror dawning on her visor. "...oh no."

-Linebreak-

Crimson couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as he heard the locks echo through the warehouse. That left only one last target remaining. His hands reformed into their buzzsaw configuration as he turned, eye instantly locking onto the solitary form kneeling on the ground with his back to him.

He started running, saws buzzing to life as he charged the Krogan. Surprisingly Titanus, didn't react, not even seeming to care as the pounding footfalls of the Jaeger approached, now only six meters away.

His position puzzled Crimson. Even only knowing him for a few brief minutes, Titanus didn't seem like the type to pray, something that seemed fitting to his pose. Blinking, Crimson cast the thought aside, but it didn't help the feeling of unease quickly growing in his chest.

Four meters.

The ground around the Krogan was empty Crimson realized, sparking his unease into a bonfire. There was something wrong with that fact, something he'd forgotten. The ground shouldn't be empty, bare of anything, but it was. What could he possibly be forgetting?

Three meters.

Finally acknowledging the incoming Jaeger, Titanus looked over his shoulder. His expression made Crimson's core go cold.

It wasn't fear, hate or even determination. His mouth was twisted upward in smug smile, eyes half lidded as if he didn't even care. The smug look of victory.

The rockets of Crimson's back lit, even as his mind raced over the growing terror building inside him. The smile, the open ground, kneeling. What was he missing?

Two meters.

He jumped, rockets flaring as they propelled him higher, arms raised high for a killing blow. Titanus only smiled wider.

Only then did Crimson see. The ground wasn't completely empty. With his new advantage in height, he was able to look down over the Krogan's shoulder. His core froze and time seemed to slow as he saw the spent thermal clip steaming on the ground.

Now it all made sense. The thing he'd been forgetting. Why the Krogan was smiling.

His mind raced as he reached the highest point of his arch and started coming down, desperately trying to change his course... but it was too late.

One meter.

Titanus whirled around, his fully loaded double-barreled Claymore clenched tight in his hands and pointed squarely at Crimson's broad chest.

For a single second, time seemed to stop. The feeling of gravity pulling him down stopped, the air rushing past him stopped, his buzzsaws hung motionless in the air and all he could see were the two barrels, their dark depths likes two eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul.

_Not like this,_ he begged in his mind, but to who he didn't know. _Please... not like this. Not again._

The weapon fired with a bang, sending the flaming carnage blasts towards him. He felt them strike him in the chest... then nothing, as his vision cut to black.

* * *

**Well this took way too long to get out. I suppose you all can thank Justiceseeker85, who continuously PMed me about updating. But the real question, seeker, is: are you happy with what you got? **

**I'll give you all the gist of it. This is the end of the Rising Maw saga. Unfortunately it also the end of all the chapters I have pre-writen for this story. Chapter 17 was still in the works when Commander Rose became my popular story, and I have spent most of my writing time on that. So, sorry to leave you all on this big cliffhanger.**

**But very important note: that does not mean this story is dead. Commander Rose is my most popular story, so it had taken up most of my time. I will try to work more on Team Jaeger, but no real promises. I will at least try to get chapter 17 out soon so not to leave you in endless suspense.**

**Thank you to readers like Justiceseeker85. Your comments and encouragement is what keeps me writing. So thank you once again for being the reason why I sit down at my keyboard and write. I would be nothing here without you all.**

**Thank you.**

**DJ out!**


	17. The Beyond

_The first thing Crimson was aware of was pain. A mind breaking, metal tearing pain in his chest. He gasped in air through his vents, the action causing a fresh surge of agony to flow through him._

_What happened? The last thing he remembered was jumping, and that Krogan... had shot him. Well that explained the pain, but..._

_He gasped, body twitching erratically as pain surged through him again. That brought on a most peculiar sensation. It was like he was floating... floating in empty space._

_Gritting his non-existent teeth he fought with his eye to bring it online. He was so tired, even mustering the will to try almost drained him. It was only the pain that kept him awake._

_It was an uphill battle, but soon he managed bring his eye online. His vision flickered as he fought to keep it on, but he could see clearly enough... and what he did see almost caused him to forget his pain._

_Blue clouds. Large clouds of blue mist were floating all around him. If he had to make a guess, he'd say it was the same stuff he had seen come out of Gipsy. And here he was, floating in it like a ship in a giant nebula. _

_Another wave of agony rushed through him. Fighting back a scream, he forced his head down, trying to see what the damage was. When he finally saw it, he nearly passed out from the shock._

_His chest was torn open. The plates were shredded and burned, forming a hole large enough to fit a child in. His internal mechanisms were utterly destroyed. He couldn't recognize anything, all warped, blackened and burned from the carnage shot The..._

_He forced his eye away, unable to look any longer. He was dead. No one, not even a Jaeger could survive something like this. He was dead..._

_...then why wasn't he?_

_He was alive, awake, floating in a space filled with... something, but he was alive... somehow._

_A roar suddenly echoed through the mist, causing him to stiffen with alarm. His hearing was dull and muted, but he knew that sound. He would never forget it. Another roar came, and, he if he could trust his hearing, it came from behind._

_So two then... no, three... fou... five! They were coming from all around him._

_True terror started to take root in his core. Here he was; injured, exhausted, couldn't move and helpless and there were Kaiju here. Lot of them._

_The roars came again, this time all bunching together somewhere to his left... then behind... then continuing on to his right._

_Though he was still terrified, he noticed something... odd about them. One roar was slightly ahead of the others and was higher pitched then the rest. The others were all deep primal roars of anger, falling slightly behind the first. It was almost like they were chasing it._

_As Crimson considered it, something loomed out of the mist before him. He didn't have time to react as a large black shape with glowing yellow eyes burst from the clouds and collided with him head on. He scream in agony, body paralysed as he was sent flying through the mist from the force of the impact._

_His mind was covered by a haze of agony, so he never noticed when the roars stopped, never noticed when strange unearthly limbs reached out and stopped his tumble. All he could know was pain._

_Sometime later he finally came to his senses and wished he hadn't. Everything, from his head to his toes, if he had them, burned as if branded. Then he heard the whispers and felt the unearthly touch of something against his plating._

_Fighting against his fear at what he might see, he forced his eye online._

_There, floating before him was... a creature. It's form was twisted, yet somehow sharp at the same time. Two arms, two legs, a body and a head, in which burned one large blue eye._

_Their gazes locked and he felt nothing but dread as the creature, a Kaiju mostly likely, examined him._

"_**...s ...wake.**" Words became audible through the whispers. "**Y... ...i****m**** too hard... ... ron.**"_

_Another whisper said something back, but Crimson couldn't pick out the words._

"_**...ever mind...**" the first whisper said. "**Now...hat... ppened t... ou?**"_

_The creature reached out a long, snake-like hand and poked at his insides. Crimson jerked, gasping in pain as it felt along a bunch of cables. Then the creature withdrew and the whispers started up again, faster this time._

_Then, as if something had just been decided, the creature moved again. He tensed as it drew up by where his ears would have been._

"_**Looks like you'll be here a while,**" the creature growled._

_Then something pushed him in the chest, sending him flying back into another cloud, thicker then the rest. There was a hard blow to the back of his head... then blackness._

-Linebreak-

Though Gipsy hated to use the comparison, the apartment was as silent as a tomb. A shiver went down her back struts.

_Don't think about it_, she told herself. _This isn't a tomb... yet. No! Crimson will be alright... he will... right?_

The couch beneath her creaked as she shifted, the only sound in the silent apartment. Beside her, Striker sat motionless, staring blankly off into space. Beside the door to the bedroom stood Cherno with his mighty arms crossed. Not a sound came from either of them.

Titanus was dead, his body little more then pulp after they'd gotten their hands on him.

Once they were sure the bastard was well and truly dead, they had finally calmed down enough to check on Crimson.

Gipsy had to suppress another shudder as she remembered. Crimson had been... gutted, for lack of a better term. The carnage shot had torn through his armor like soft lead, completely shredding his internal components. It was such a grizzly image. Years of fighting Kaiju and suffering similar injuries still didn't make it any easier to look at.

It tore at her to see him like this. He was still alive, but they all suspected that wouldn't last long.

With a lack of a better idea they'd rushed him back to the apartment, ignoring or destroying everything in their path, holding onto the one hope that could save their friend: That what happened to Gipsy would happen to him as well.

Though Gipsy was loathed to send him to... whatever that place was, it was their only chance. They had no hope of fixing his damages on their own. So now they were forced to put his life in the hands of things they didn't understand.

They had gotten him back to the apartment easily enough and laid him gently out on the one remaining bed. Then they waited, watching for anything that might happen.

And happen it did.

Though they had been to busy to notice it before, the ruptured cables and hoses in Crimson chest had slowly been dispelling the blue gas Crimson had been so fascinated about. Now that his body had settled the gas practically began gushing out, soon obscuring his whole body in a blue mist. When Cherno had reached out to feel Crimson through the mist, they found out the body had vanished. Now all they could do was wait and hope.

That had been eight hours ago, and hope was running out.

Gipsy sighed shakily before glancing up at Cherno. The Russian solemnly uncrossed his arms and opened the door with a soft touch of the controls and stared inside. Striker finally stirred, lifting his head and following the titan's gaze.

The bed was still empty.

They stared at it for a long second before the door slid shut again, leaving them in a silence that seemed even worse than before.

Nine hours: Nothing.

Cherno stared at the door, his clenched fists trembling. Then a low rumble started deep in his chassis, slowly turning into a mechanical roar of rage. Then he turned and stormed out of the apartment, heading off into Omega to do who knows what.

Gipsy watched him go but felt no inclination to follow. Cherno would have to take care of himself, wherever he was going, but she understand his anger. The rage she'd felt as they tore Titanus apart was something truly terrifying. Even a Kaiju would have been hesitant to face a Jaeger in that state. But her anger wasn't directed at the Krogan, but at herself. She'd insisted they let his happen to Crimson... and now he wasn't coming back.

She fought back sob as the guilt came crashing down on her. This was all her fault.

"I didn't think it would turn out like this."

Gipsy started as Striker spoke up quietly. She turned and looked over him. The look on his visor as he sat there slouched over was something she'd never seen before... on his face, anyway. This was also the first time she'd heard him go two whole sentences without swearing.

"I mean," he continued softly. "We're Jaegers. Giant metal monsters made to fight monsters and protect humanity. That was our purpose... and I would have gladly died for it... I _did_ die for it."

He went silent, staring off into the distance. After a minute, Gipsy wondered if he was going to continue. When he did speak again, she was surprised to hear his voice clouded with emotion.

"But what is our purpose here? We fight, we kill, but for what?"

He turned his head to stare at her, visor glowing with a pleading expression. "Why are we doing this? Why are we risking our lives for some bitch who doesn't give a rat's ass about us?"

"I don't know," Gipsy answered quietly, shaking her head. "Nothing else to do, I guess."

"Nothing else to do!" Striker snarled, suddenly angry. "So we work for a bitch who'd have us die for her! For some fucking god forsaken shithole she wants to rule! What kind of a reason is that?!"

"Striker..."

"Crimson is dead!" he screamed, whirling on her. "He's gone, you understand that?! Dead! For what?!"

He turned away, chest heaving as he breathed heavily. Gipsy stared at him, back rigid with shock. She'd never seen him like this before. Mad, sure, but not like this. She had no idea how to deal with it. Before she could even begin to wonder how to respond, Striker let out a strangled sob and doubled over.

"I can't do this," he gasped out. "I _can't_ do this."

"Uh..."

Normal Striker she could deal with. Angry and pissed off Striker she could deal with. Emotional Striker... she had no idea how to even begin.

"You know what it's like," he gasped out. "To lose someone... Yancy. I lost Chuck... he might as well have been a brother to me. To lose him was hard enough, but... to lose him through the drift... to feel him slip away. I can't... I can't do that again. We don't have pilots anymore... all we have are each other. A-and now he's gone."

He turned to look at her, visor pleading.

"Don't go," he sobbed. "Please don't go. Don't leave me along again... _please_."

With that, Gipsy's mind was made up.

She reached out, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and hugging him close, comforting him as best a war machine could.

"I won't," she promised softly. "And neither will Cherno. We're staying right here, you got that?"

Striker didn't reply, only leaned into her as sobs racked his frame.

-Linebreak-

Armor caved in under his blows, pulverizing the body underneath. Cherno Alpha punched again and the body of the Krogan went flying into his comrades gathered behind it.

As the group staggered he charged in, giving them no chance to recover as he tore them to pieces. Arms and legs were torn from their sockets, staining the ground with blood.

The mercs under Aria's control all stayed back. Even the bravest among them were too terrified to try and approach the raging war machine.

Cherno had been at it for hours. Once he had reached the front line his trail of destruction had begun. The Rising Maws fled before him and he chased them down like the cowards they were. Hundreds lay dead and he was only getting warmed up.

A Maw soldier ran at him, firing a scavenged shotgun. It bounced harmlessly off his plating and he lunged, wrapping the Krogan in a bear hug before crushing the life out of it. He threw the body at another group, relishing the sound of breaking bone under his fists as he charged into the fray, channelling his anger into every blow.

Crimson was gone.

A Maw went flying.

Gone.

Another fell, head smashed into pulp.

GONE!

With a roar his incinerator turbines roared to life, bathing the Krogan in a wave of liquid fire. They screamed in pain, even as his fist descended from on high.

They killed his friend and he would make them pay.

* * *

**Now that I really think about it, Justiceseeker85 this chapter is for you! Thank you to the biggest fan of this story for keeping it alive in my head!**

**I'll admit, Commander Rose and life in general have been taking up a lot of my time. As of now I don't really have a timeline for this story and I have no idea about further updates. Hopefully I'll have enough time to get my ass in gear and resolve Crimson's dilemma.**

**But once again, thank you Justiceseeker, the number 1 fan!**


	18. Look To The Future

With a low whine of powering circuits, the single yellow eye slowly blazed to life. Crimson groaned, blearily looking around as his systems grudgingly rebooted. He was in the burned out bedroom in their apartment. But that didn't seem right for some reason. The last thing he remembered was hunting down Titanus and then...

Crimson stiffened, vents stalling as the last few moments of his memory came rushing back. The Krogan's grin, the Carnage shot and then... floating in... wherever, or _whatever_, that place was. Then the creatures. _Kajiu_; there was nothing else they could be.

But then what was he doing back here? They would have destroyed him for sure.

So why didn't they?

_**Looks like you'll be here a while.**_

The words of the creature rang in his head, sending a shiver down his struts. So some time had passed since he had... died. Again. But _again_, why was he back here?

He crossed his arms, mulling over the implications. Suddenly something occurred to him.

Gipsy.

Was that where she had gone? She never talked about it, and maybe that was the reason. Goodness knows he was having a hard enough time wrapping his head around Kaiju heaven, if that's what it was. But that brought up a thousand new questions, none of which he could answer.

Sighing, Crimson got off the bed, noticing for the first time his incredible sense of well being. He felt like he could take on a whole army and not break a sweat.

Technically that was true.

The door to the main room opened as he approached, revealing one of the strangest sights he'd seen so far.

Gipsy and Striker sat on the broken couch, sleeping soundly, if the purr of their systems was any indication. But what took him by surprise was how the two Jaegers leaned into each other, with Gipsy's arm wrapped around Striker's shoulders in a hug as their heads pressed together.

Crimson blinked, then a smile slowly crossed his visor. The couple looked rather... _cute_ together. Well, as cute as two war machines of death and destruction could be.

Without thinking he raised his omni-tool and snapped a quick picture. He wasn't a sadist by any means, but that didn't mean he'd let them forget this either. Besides, it would be nice to have something to hang over Striker's head when he got unbearable.

Taking the thought one step further, he saved no less than a dozen photos of the couple at different angles. But as he moved in to take one last close up, the unthinkable happened.

He tripped.

With a startled yelp he flew into the couples lap with a mighty clang of colliding steel that sounded a lot like the opening notes of the Kaiju alarm back at the Shatterdome.

To their credit, Gipsy and Striker reacted appropriately.

"Battle stations!" Crimson heard Gipsy scream before he was sent flying across the room as the two jumped their feet.

"I see it!"

Crimson could only blink once in confusion before two meteorites of vengeful steel jumped on top of him, yanking him up and pinning him against the wall. The last thing he remembered after that was a blue fist heading straight for his eye.

-Linebreak-

"I'm sorry," Gipsy whimpered, wringing her hands.

Crimson glared at her from the couch, massaging the dozens of new dents on his chassis.

"I just heard the alarm and panicked," she continued weakly. "And you kind of looked like a Kajiu, all red... and big... so I... _sorry_?"

He blinked irritably, then turned his half murderous gaze to Striker, who shrugged. "I regret nothing, wanker."

"He meant he's sorry," Gipsy pipped up quickly.

"Fuck off."

"I suppose that's as good as I'm going to get," Crimson muttered. "Still, did you have to try to _kill _me?"

"Says the fucker who scared Gipsy shitless. Seriously, wha'd you expect?"

"He scared you too," Gipsy pointed out.

"Again, fuck off."

"That's not important," Crimson said, getting up. "I can care less about who scared who, but you two almost killed me! Again!"

Striker shrugged. "Not our fault. Blame that bitch Titanus. We slotted the bastard by the way."

"But would it have killed you to check who it was _before_ pummelling my face in?!"

"Sorry," Gipsy whimpered, wringing her hands again. "I panicked."

"And I forgive you," Crimson nodded to her before pointed to Striker. "You on the other hand!"

"Ah, fuck you too."

Crimson growled irritably. The only thing stopping him from wringing the Australians neck, besides his self control, was the Jaeger's potential embarrassment at the pictures he had taken. But that could wait for another day.

"Lets just move on," he groaned, looking about the apartment. "Where is Cherno? There's something we need to talk about."

Gipsy shrugged. "Ah, well... he kind of snapped when you didn't come back and just walked out."

"And when was that?"

She looked at her omni-tool. "About ten hours ago."

"Ten hours? How long was I gone?"

"About nineteen, I think? What do you think Striker?"

Striker gave her a look. "Does it look like I care? He's back now, big fucking deal."

"It wasn't-"

She was cut off as the front door suddenly opened and Cherno Alpha stomped in. He was covered in blood and dozens of new dents and scratches covered his plating. Most worrying of all was the bluish gas that leaked from a deep rent in his reactor tower. But if the Russian noticed his injuries he didn't show it. A low rumble of anger came from his insides, one that could scare off a Thrasher Maw.

Jaegers on the other hand.

"Cherno?! What happened to you?" Crimson cried, rushing forward to look at the rent.

The Russian stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the sight of his crimson companion, alive and whole. A questioning whimper worked its way out of his system.

"Yes, I'm alive," Crimson said. "But what happen-"

He cried out as two olive green arms wrapped around his waist and crushed him in a bear hug that only a true Russian Jaeger could give. The sound of Crimson's hull creaking was muffled by Cherno's happy cooing.

"Yes!... I'm happy to be alive too," Crimson gasped out as he was slowly crushed. "Just... please don't kill again by accident. _Please_! My waist isn't supposed to _be this narrow_!"

It took a minute to pry the unfortunate Jaeger from the happy Russian, but when he was released, Crimson still demanded to know where Cherno had been. He had only chuckled and told them of how he had single-handedly demolished an army of Maws. All of Omega knew of his deeds by now, a fact he was especially proud of. But then the talk had turned to Crimson and what he had experienced in 'the fucking afterlife' as Striker called it. He told them everything, laid down a few theories, gave his own opinions, then sat back on the couch and waited.

The three others stared at him blankly, trying to absorb the technical jargon they were just exposed to.

Finally.

"That's fucking retarded."

Cherno crossed his arms and growled at Striker.

"You tell me if it makes any damn sense! Why the fucking hell would _fucking_ _Kajiu_ bring us back from the _fucking dead_?!"

Cherno thought about it for a moment then rumbled with a shrug.

"Fuck you! I'll swear as much as I want."

"Do you have any better theories then? Because I would just love to hear them," Crimson demanded, crossing him arms. Or rather, just two of them. The third couldn't find a comfortable place to fit in and instead just scratched his chin as Striker bristled and sputtered. But he could come up with nothing halfway intelligent to counter Crimson's statement. "Exactly. So, as it stand, we know that the Kajiu brought us here. We don't know how or why, but here we are. So, any ideas?"

"To get them out."

It was barely a whisper, but all three turned to Gipsy who looked like she wanted nothing more than the floor to swallow her up under their inquisitive gazes.

"And how would you know that?" Crimson asked slowly.

"Um... they told me," she said miserably, wringing her hands. "Just before I came back... they told me."

They blinked dumbly at her, then Striker exploded. "Then why the fuck didn't you tell us earlier?!"

"Its not the easiest thing to talk about, alright!"

"Both of you calm down," Crimson interrupted, jumping between the two before fists were brought into play. "Just calm down and we can talk about this like the civil beings that we are."

Cherno snorted.

"You be quiet. Now Gipsy, what did they say to you. All they told me was that I'd be there a while."

The female Jaeger shifted on her feet, wringing her hands again and looked down to the ground. "Well... they said... we escaped, or something. Don't know what that meant. But they also said that we're their ticket out. That we can somehow open a breach... and that's it."

A stunned silence stretched between them. Then Cherno let out a low, angry rumble.

"I don't think that matters now," Crimson said quietly. "Either way, we can all agree that, even if we could, we won't help them escape. We all saw what they did to earth, and I won't let that happen here. _We_ won't let that happen, right?"

The three all nodded firmly.

"So... what do we do then?" Gipsy asked.

Crimson shrugged. "We live, I guess. What else can we do? They may have dropped us here, but I'm certainly not going to play their game. They can rot in hell for all I care."

"Good fucking riddance."

"Couldn't have said it better myself. Now, what do you say we liberate this station, huh? There are still Maws about, unless Cherno got them all."

Dark chuckles and cracking knuckles was his reply as the Jaegers once again prepared for war against the falling Krogan empire.

-Linebreak-

The shuttle door opened onto a blasted wasteland, filled with the skeletons of old ships, left to rust on the planetary junkyard of Korlus. Xran breathed in deeply, taking in the smells.

Home. His birthplace.

Oh how he _hated_ it.

He jumped out of the shuttle and went to meet the single Krogan who emerged from the tangled wreckage around the landing platform. A G1-T was tattooed on his headplate.

They exchanged a quick greeting, then together headed deeper into the wreckage toward the literal birthing place of the Rising Maws. When they reached the facility they were met by a dozen more Krogan Templates, all armed to the teeth. Xran nodded in greeting then entered, the others falling into step behind him.

Bodies filled the rooms he passed. Failed experiments or guards who didn't agree with their mission. But Xran ignored them all, pushing on to the last room on the top floor. At the door he readied his shotgun, then hit the controls and stomped inside.

On the other side of the room next to a single bio-tank stood the mad Krogan Doctor Okeer himself. He was hunched over a terminal, typing furiously. He didn't seem to notice them at all.

"Okeer," Xran growled, stepping forward.

The Doctor paused in his typing, but didn't even glace their way. "I knew this day would come," he said quietly, resuming his work. "You were always jealous of your higher brothers."

"Jealousy had nothing to do with it," Xran said as the others filled in after him, pointing their weapons at the mad doctor.

"Oh, but it is," Okeer laughed. "You just couldn't bear the fact that I came up with something better." He reached out and lovingly rested a hand on the tank. A single Krogan floated inside, large for someone so young. "This is our future. Our species perfected. Even the Genophage couldn't stop the Maws and now it can't stop this. This Krogan... this Grunt, perfect in every way."

"You're insane."

"It is our _legacy_!" he screamed, whirling around to face Xran, uncaring of the guns pointed at him. "This is only the beginning! A new generation of Maws will rise under us with his genes leading the way. All these rejects I've made pale before him. You, all of you, are nothing before him! He is Krogan perfected, the ultimate blow dealt to the Genophage, for even it couldn't stop me!"

Xran blinked at his monolog, then leaned over to one of his companions. "Has he been hitting the red sand?" he whispered.

The Krogan shrugged. "Dunno. He wasn't like this yesterday."

Xran nodded and stepped forward, cutting off the mad tirade. "Okeer! We have all made our choice. The Rising Maws are Finished, the invasion of Omega has failed and your leaders are dead. Now we declare our allegiance to the true Krogan race that you have abandoned. We won't let tank rejects rule our proud species. But you? You're the biggest threat to them so far. You've made the vast armies, and you could do it again."

His shotgun levelled at Okeer's chest. "So tell me, are you for your race or against it?"

Okeer bristled, drawing himself up to his full height. "Your _true Krogan_ crawl in the dirt like animals! My legacy will-"

The shotgun fired, blowing a hole clean through his body. Okeer shuddered once, struggling to get his last words out, then collapsed to the floor, dead.

"And that," Xran said, going over and nudging the body with a toe, "is how you save a species." He pointed at the others. "Get on the shuttle. We have a lot of work to do."

"What about him?" one of the Krogan asked, pointing to the one in the tank.

Xran scowled at the perfect creature inside. "Leave it. If this thing was Okeer's legacy then it will die along with him."

And so they left the damned planet, leaving the lone perfect Krogan to die.

* * *

**And Crimson is back. Yay!**

**To be quiet honest, out of both TJ and CR... I think this is my best written chapter so far. Everything flows smoothly, characters are on point, nothing unnecessary save a few barbs, to the point without dragging on... maybe a little rushed? But hey, what can you do?. But overall, I'm proud of it. It feels professional. I really hope I can make this the standard in the future.**

**But yes they will be meeting Commander Ros- I mean, _Commander Shepard_ very soon. Just one more thing needs to be set in motion. Something involving a three headed dog.**

**And Shepard? Oh boy, prepare yourselves because he will be... _awsome_.**


End file.
